The Emperor's Hand
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: Number Five in my Historical KURTTY Series. In the days of the great Roman Empire, Princess Katrina Placidae arrives in Rome to join her uncle, the mighty Emperor Caesar Augustus, who then places her under the watch of his deadliest servant...COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

"_Roman civilization had achieved, within the bounds of its technology, relatively as great a mastery of time and space as we have achieved today.__"__-__Arthur Erickson_

Chapter 1: Arrival

_(A/N: To any new Historical KURTTY readers, I would like to answer a few FAQ's right off the bat, 'kay? One, neither Kitty nor Kurt have their powers in this or any other Historical KURTTY tale, though Kurt retains his appearance. And please keep in mind that, as with all the other stories in this series, the Kurt depicted here will be quite different than he appears on the show. ^^)_

_Prologue_

_Italy, 15 C.E._

_Rome rules the world._

_Its dominion over the known lands comprises an empire the likes of which would never be seen again on this earth. From the British Isles across the Channel to modern-day France and Germany its holdings spread, from the snow-capped Caucasus Mountains to the blistering sands of North Africa its reach extended with an endless grasp, and thus it was that the civilized world and all its inhabitants lay under the talons of the Roman Eagle._

_With a great sweep of his arm, the mighty Caesar Augustus, the greatest of all Rome's emperors, sent his unstoppable legions marching forth to all the corners of the map, their tramping feet and bristling spears so great in number that they stripped fields barren and drank rivers dry as they passed. Never before had the Earth seen such a fearsome fighting force as the Roman army, its soldiers instilled with iron discipline and its officers and generals highly educated in the ways of war. Nothing, it seemed, could stop the Roman juggernaut that marched ever forth from the gates of the Eternal City so as to cover the entire planet in the Imperial banner._

_One by one, the old nations and kingdoms of the ancient world fell to the Romans. The Celts, the Britons, the Burgundians and the Parthinans, the Greeks, and the Czechs and Carthaginians were all defeated and subjugated by the ever-growing might of Caesar, their lands claimed, one at a time, for the glory of Rome._

_It was largely due to the enormous aptitude of Caesar himself that the Empire was forged into the superpower that would dominate all others for centuries after his own demise. Born Octavius and named the heir of his adopted uncle Julius upon his assassination in the Roman Senate, Augustus Caesar not only fully enjoyed being Emperor but was also fortunate enough to possess many of the requirements that such an occupation required. Patience was foremost among these, for Caesar lacked the haughtiness and rash nature of many of his successors. Like all great men of history, he knew that he was not infallible, and therefore had no qualms about accepting a good idea simply because it was not his own. A gift for military strategy made Caesar a force to be reckoned with upon the field of battle, and the brilliant, swift campaigns of conquest that had characterized his ascension to power were largely due to Caesar's machinations. Such a long list of Roman triumphs helped Caesar to win the support of the Senate, the loyalty of his generals, and (for the most part) the support of the average Roman._

_Bloody and violent his campaigns were, but Caesar felt, privately, that the Empire's new subjects were better off under _his _rule than anyone else's. By bringing more and more lands into the Roman dominion, he reasoned, Rome was bringing peace and economic, military and social stability to the conquered peoples. Doubtless that there were and would continue to be many who would vehemently disagree with such claims, but if one were to look at Caesar's reign at a strictly scholarly point of view, he would see that the Emperor's reasoning was not entirely flawless. Regardless of any moral or ethical questions the Empire's expansion may raise, one cannot deny the fact that Caesar excelled in domestic policy just like he did in everything else._

_The Empire was not only one of war, but of learning as well. The rule of Caesar had ushered in an unprecedented era of art, culture and education that spread on the heels of the victorious legionnaires. Aqueducts gave a constant supply of fresh, running water to cities throughout the Empire, paved roads crisscrossed the European continent like the web of a great spider, and trade routes over both land and sea brought goods from all over the world to the Imperial markets. Caesar himself personally introduced a number of sweeping reforms, from a more effective system of currency to some of the first fire departments. Art and theatre exploded in tandem with extraordinary feats of engineering; painstakingly painted and wondrously beautiful mosaics and murals adorned the roofs and walls of the colossal buildings of marble and stone that seemed to tower on every city street, and massive crowds turned out in anticipation of the latest theatrical play. Education among the average folk skyrocketed as more and more people of all ages went to hear lectures and tutelage from the greatest thinkers of the ancient world. _

_But for all his successes, and they were many, Caesar could not match the power of human ambition. He never forgot the fate of his uncle Julius on the floor of the Senate, and upon being named the next Emperor he had learned a very fast and bitter lesson: when one wields power, there is always another who covets that same power for himself. The first month of Caesar's reign had been marked by four separate attempts on his life by four separate conspirators. The traitors, of course, had been made a rather violent example of in the sands of the Coliseum, but there were always more willing to take their places._

_Death frightened Caesar, but not for the reasons one might think. The prospect of his demise was not nearly as perturbing as the thought of his Empire in the hands of someone else. Augustus Caesar was by far the greatest Emperor and the one most qualified for such a lofty position; Caesar knew it, his advisors knew it, the Senate knew it, and the people knew it. Should Caesar die suddenly and with no clear successor, then the Empire would inevitably collapse from in-fighting and civil war. All that the Emperor had worked so hard to build would be gone, and thus Caesar resolved to take steps to prevent such a catastrophe._

_The "steps" in question consisted mainly of systematically rooting out and exterminating Caesar's enemies, both in Rome itself and throughout all the Empire's holdings. Those who plotted rebellion, fomented discontent or made secret pacts behind closed doors had a rather nasty habit of suddenly turning up dead. Politicians who took bribes and placed higher priority on their change purses rather than the good of the Empire were weeded out and replaced with peers of higher moral caliber, as were other high-ranking officials who displayed similar tendencies._

_But the Emperor by no means went about such things himself, as keeping the Empire running on a day-to-day basis took up most of his time. Rather, such a task fell upon the shoulders of one, singular individual._

_Within all the Empire's borders, tales and legends were told of a merciless killer said to be in Caesar's service, whispers of a nameless, faceless fear charged with ridding Rome of its most dangerous enemies. Their eyes wide eyes and their voices hushed, men and women alike spun rumors of the most dangerous man in all the Empire, a weapons-master of such extraordinary skill that he could do the work of one hundred men all by himself. "He walks here and there," they would say, "hooded and cloaked, and wherever he goes, he leaves death behind him."_

_Such was the blood-chilling dread instilled by the most dangerous fighter in all the land, the assassin and spy known and feared as "The Emperor's Hand…"_

_Now…_

Katrina Placidae felt somewhat uncomfortable and crowded, which was as natural as could be, seeing as how she was hemmed in on all sides by the overbearing and rather stone-faced soldiers who escorted her through the gates of Rome. Such treatment might have been reserved for the most dangerous of criminals, but Katrina was about as far from a common thug as it was possible to get. Rather than keeping _her in, _the forest of bristling _pilum _spears and _lancea _javelins was meant to keep _others out._

The Emperor's niece, after all, merited a certain level of security.

Katrina was the daughter of the Emperor's half-brother, as well as Caesar's only living relative, but despite this she had never even set foot in Rome before. The reason for this was that Caesar himself had sent Katrina away from the city when she was very small, but Katrina's exile was not borne from punishment or neglect on the part of the Emperor. In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth.

Caesar loved Katrina, cherishing her as he would his own child and taking her into his court when Katrina's father had met a sudden and violent death. It grieved the Emperor's heart to be parted from his adopted child, but in the chaos that surfaced in the midst of Caesar's rise to power, such precautions were necessary to keep Katrina safe. In all likelihood Katrina would have been long dead had she stayed in Rome, and so it was with great anguish that Caesar had sent her to his villa in the Italian countryside, telling her to remain there until it was safe enough for Katrina to return.

She did not realize it yet, but though her uncle adored her as much as a father could, Caesar also had political reasons for wanting to assure Katrina's survival. As the last remaining member of the Emperor's household, it fell to Katrina to ensure the survival of Caesar's bloodline. The Emperor was childless, for his wife had been barren before passing on less than a year ago. And to be honest, Emperor or not, Caesar was still _human_; the popular rumor went that he'd been so heartbroken when his spouse had died that he locked himself in his chamber and wept for twenty days and nights. Furthermore, the Emperor had obstinately refused to remarry, claiming that doing such a thing would be dishonoring his beloved's memory, and thus it was considered not only Katrina's duty, but her _honor _to ensure the survival of the royal lineage. One day, the young woman would bear the child who would be Caesar's heir by blood and birthright, and this only provided an even more urgent reason for the Emperor to smuggle his beloved niece out of the city so many years ago.

But now, at eighteen years of age, the political atmosphere had calmed down sufficiently to merit Katrina's re-entrance into Roman society, and so it was that under heavy guard Katrina was ushered into Rome with attendant fanfare. Rose petals streamed down from windows and rooftops as the masses roared their approval, and Katrina was tempted to avert her head from embarrassment. Her uncle, it seemed, had spared no expense to celebrate her return, and such attention made the modest-natured Katrina feel somewhat awkward.

Such humility was almost unheard of in one who came from such a distinguished family background for Katrina was, by her very nature, a kind, gentle and caring person. So warm a soul was she that the wild does would eat from her palm and the birds of the forest would perch upon her shoulders, and so trusting and gentle was Katrina toward her fellow man that she endeared herself to the citizens of Rome before she even set foot upon the city streets.

And, though Katrina did not yet realize it, she was also very, _very _beautiful.

Her hair was the color of rich chocolate, her somewhat tanned skin flawless even after years of living in the Italian sun, her eyes were the color of hazelnuts and her teeth almost unnaturally white. Her delicate nose sat above a mouth made for smiling, and so perfect was her figure that Katrina put the greatest sculptors of the Empire to shame. Every living male in all of Rome watched in awe as she passed them by, their jaws slack at such a vision of stunning beauty and their eyes wider than dinner plates.

Katrina did not notice, and even if she had, she would have simply ignored it. Just because she was nice didn't mean she was sheltered or naïve, after all. In any case, her attention was more than diverted by the grandiose sight of the Imperial Palace that loomed over the surrounding metropolis like a sleeping giant.

It certainly was a residence fit for an Emperor. The enormous structure stood at the end of a tall staircase, which glittered and sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight due to the generous amount of mica contained in the rock. A colonnade of towering marble pillars sat upon the stairwell's summit, their color of purest white streaked with gold, and situated in the spaces between were sculpted likenesses of Caesar himself in a variety of heroic poses. Even the front entrance seemed to dwarf Katrina as she passed under the oversized entryway, and the slightly intimidating effect it produced was wholly intentional. This magnificent display of power and beauty was meant to awe and humble any and all who entered into the presence of the Caesar, to subliminally remind all who gazed upon it that the Emperor reigned supreme.

Katrina's velvet shoes _shushed_ as she trod upon the cold stone tiles, her figure diminutive compared to the vast hallway down which she turned. Windows of colored glass cast rays of sunlight in all colors of the rainbow as Katrina hastened on her way. The thick curtain of purple cloth that marked the entrance to the Emperor's throne room grew closer at an alarming speed, and the two sentries whose task it was to watch over it stood stiffly to attention as Caesar's sole surviving kinswoman hurried past them without so much as a word.

The heavy curtain was brushed hastily aside, and Katrina emerged into her uncle's court with such suddenness that all activity therein ground to a screeching halt. All the Emperor's men, his advisors and ministers and courtiers alike, stared at the young woman who had barged into their midst without a trace of the propriety that one would normally show to such important people.

Slowly, with a deliberate pace, Katrina approached elevated dais upon which her uncle sat, her purple garments trailing behind her like a river of shining velvet. In supplication Katrina knelt before the throne of Caesar, her eyes averted and her expression soft.

With her head thus bowed, Katrina could not have noticed how the Emperor's normally serious and focused face lit up like that of a child on Christmas morning, his eyes moistening with emotion as he rose from his lofty seat and hurried down to her, his finger gently tilting her chin back up so as to look Katrina in the eye.

"Katrina," Caesar said, gently tugging the young woman to her feet. "Welcome home."

"I have missed you as well, Uncle," Katrina replied, hugging him tightly, as any daughter would.

The Emperor's smile was filled with pride as he returned the gesture wholeheartedly. Silence reigned in the courtroom, and Caesar finally realized that everyone else was staring at him.

"What are you staring at?" he asked irritably. "Do you not have children of your own that you treasure? Go away and leave us, all of you!" Caesar commanded. "I have not seen my niece in sixteen years! Whatever the hell it is that you think merits my attention, it can wait until tomorrow! Get out! _Now!"_

The chamber emptied like water in a sieve, and Caesar sighed wearily as he turned to Katrina once more. "I apologize, little one. I did not mean for any of this to coincide with your visit." He paused, holding her out at arm's length while his chest swelled with paternal affection. "How you've grown," he said softly. "You were but a child the last time I saw you, Katrina, but now you have become an extraordinary young woman. I am so _proud _of you," the Emperor told her, his dignified mask falling away in tatters. "And I am so _happy _you have finally returned to me."

Katrina's radiant smile matched Caesar's own, but like most teenagers, she too felt just a little awkward in such a situation. "As am I," she said, running a hand through her hair nervously, though her tone was utterly sincere. "You look exactly like I remember, Uncle."

Caesar arched an eyebrow, his grin sardonic. "Aging well, am I?"

"What? No!" Katrina protested. "Of course not!"

"Then you're saying I'm aging _badly_?" the Emperor teased, clapping a hand to his heart in mock injury. "How your barbed words sear my soul!"

"Uncle-" Katrina was close to panicking when Caesar's façade dissipated into a short bout of muted snickering.

"Oh, yes, you're _definitely _the Katrina I remember," he said, trying to smother his laughter.

"That's not very funny," she retorted, putting her hands on her hips.

"I thought it was quite humorous, actually," the Emperor replied, his grin firmly in place as he beckoned Katrina to follow him. "Are you hungry, little one? I've had the cooks lay out a special meal for us, you know. I believe they might have outdone themselves this time. Before we eat, however," he added in a considerably quieter voice, "I would like to discuss something with you, Katrina. It is of gravest importance that you heed what I am about to say.

So urgent did her uncle sound that Katrina merely nodded, her playful scowl replaced by a much more serious expression. "Doubtless you've been told that the reason I sent you away from the palace was to protect you," Caesar began. "And while the political atmosphere has become considerably less volatile of late, there are still those in the Senate and in the Army who would gladly slay me and seize my throne if given the chance. These men will do _anything _they possibly can to further their own nefarious ends, little one, and not one of them would think twice about killing _you _to get to me. They, and everyone else, know that I have no family, no children or heirs to succeed me once my days have come to an end. Your death would herald the end of my bloodline, and without a clear successor to take power, the Empire will tear itself apart. As your Emperor, I must do all I can to ensure that this _does not happen_," he finished, but then his tone grew quiet. "But as your uncle, the thought of losing you…is _unbearable._"

Katrina was looking more than a little frightened at this point. "Then why bring me back if there is such a threat?" she asked.

"Because anyone who even _thinks _of harming you will be dead before he comes within ten leagues of the palace," Caesar replied, his grin rather smug.

"A _bodyguard_?" Katrina demanded, her voice rising somewhat. "Uncle, I am capable of looking out for my _own _safety!"

"That is a risk I _cannot _take," the Emperor replied. "I know how you must feel, little one, but I cannot and _will not _allow your safety to be compromised."

"So I am to be accompanied by an entire army if I even set foot out of the palace."

"Hardly," Caesar snorted. "I would trust your well-being to only one person, and _he _is _far _more skilled in weapons and war than any ordinary soldier could possibly hope to be. There is not a warrior in all the Empire who could lay him low."

"And just who is this man?" Katrina rejoined, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"In another life, he was a gladiator," the Emperor replied. "The mightiest gladiator that I, or anyone, had ever seen. His fame was so great that one day I decided to go to the fights myself to see if the stories were true."

"Were they?"

"The stories didn't do him justice," Caesar told his niece dryly. "I had never seen anyone with that much _raw talent _before, and I realized that to have such potential die on the sands of the Coliseum would be a sad thing to see. After the fights were over I approached him with an offer to be released from his bondage; I gave him his freedom, and in return he gave me his loyalty." The Emperor's voice grew louder as he clapped his hands together at commendable volume. "Kurzan! Attend me!"

From somewhere behind Katrina's back, a low voice made her skin crawl as she suddenly felt the presence of someone directly behind her.

"I am here, sire."

Katrina turned around suddenly out of pure reflex, and what next greeted her inquiring gaze made her vision swim with numbing fear.

The man who had so abruptly answered Caesar's call was so menacing a sight that foreboding seemed to drip from his every pore. His face and body were largely hidden under the gray hood and cloak he wore, and so black was the void that hid the man's features that the room seemed to grow just a little darker, as if the inky darkness within was literally _sucking _the light away like black hole. On the cold stone floor he knuckled down in deference to his liege, and he was so still that he seemed to be more of a statue than anything else.

"Rise," Caesar told him, gesturing for the newcomer to stand. "I have need of you once more, Kurzan Vortigern."

The faceless menace straightened, its head still lowered as a sign of respect. "What would you have of me?" Kurzan asked, again in that same low and emotionless voice that the stunned girl found so disturbing.

"This is my niece, Katrina," Caesar elaborated. "She is my only remaining family, and it is only with her that the royal lineage will survive. Do you understand how important she is, both to the future of the Empire and to me on a personal level?"

"I do…Master."

"Her unique position makes her a target for any of those who would usurp me," Caesar went on. "Katrina will be residing here in the palace from now on, Kurzan, and though I am reluctant to let anyone else carry out your…_primary _duties, I can think of no one else with whom I'd trust my niece's life. You are to protect her from all those that would do her ill," The Emperor concluded. "Strike them down without mercy, for no harm is to come to Katrina while you still draw breath. You are not to leave her side at all _for any reason_, save for the bedroom and the bath."

Kurzan suddenly removed his hood, and Katrina almost felt her heart stop altogether as she suddenly realized what he had gone to such lengths to hide from prying eyes. Her heart beat like a monstrous drum until she thought it would explode from her chest, for never before had Katrina beheld such a monstrous visage.

The gray cloak fluttered slowly by Kurzan's ankles, and the muted torchlight glinted off of the steel cuirass that covered his chest. It was of typical Roman style, its breastplate and shoulder guards comprising of layers of interweaving, thick metal strips that afforded the wearer a good layer of protection while also allowing for reasonable mobility. It had obviously seen heavy action, Katrina knew, for the once-flawless metal was now covered in scars and scratches, its strips of once-gleaming steel notched and chipped from countless skirmishes. The greaves and shoulder guards that Kurzan wore fared little better in their battle-scarred appearance and the muted gray tunic that Caesar's servant wore sported a ragged edge that gave him a barbaric countenance. Across his back Kurzan wore a pair of _gladius _short swords, straight-bladed and double-edged, and their hilts peeked over his shoulder in an X-shape as their leather straps crossed over Kurzan's chest.

But as scary as all this may have been, it was the appearance of Kurzan himself that made Katrina feel somewhat sick.

His strong, well-built form was the color of the deep ocean, an unnatural-looking shade of dark blue over which had grown a thin layer of fur or hair of some kind. His elongated fangs peeked out even when his lips were closed, and his bizarre-looking hands bore only three fingers, including the thumb. His sandaled feet were likewise twisted, each possessing only a pair of large toes, and a long, spaded tail thrashed slowly around Kurzan's thigh like a slithering snake, as if that unnatural appendage had a life of its own.

What unnerved Katrina the most were his _eyes._

They were not unlike those of a cat, really. The orbs that now studied Katrina with their intense gaze were the color of liquid gold and seemed to stare right through her with the force of their scrutiny, and the slitted, black pupil in the center of each amber pool ensnared Katrina's brown ones like a hungry serpent, drawing her eyes to his with an almost hypnotic magnetism.

He didn't look a day older than she was, Katrina realized as she fought to keep her knees from quaking, and yet those eyes seemed almost ancient compared to the rest of him. Something was there in those golden depths that should not be seen in one so young in years, a maturity and hardness that far exceeded the span of Kurzan's lifetime. These were the eyes of one who had seen more than any man should ever have to endure.

Then Kurzan Vortigern, "The Emperor's Hand," unsheathed his blades and held them out to her in a time-honored symbol of servitude, his face showing not a trace of self-consciousness whilst he slowly dropped to one knee.

"My lady," he intoned slowly. "I am..._your servant_."

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER? ^^ I am SO PUMPED to be starting this story, and I really hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! What dark deeds are being plotted in the Roman Senate? What is the story behind Katrina's new bodyguard? And will Kurzan succeed in his mission to keep Katrina alive? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If _you _have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! I would LOVE to hear your ideas!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. If I call the heroine "Catherine" instead of "Katrina," then I apologize in advance. I guess after so many stories of calling her "Catherine," it might prove to be a little bit of a challenge for me to keep the names straight, so please don't hesitate to let me know if I get the characters' nomenclature mixed up. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 2: Katrina's Shadow

_(A/N: Just in case any of you guys were wondering, the theme music of this fic is "Path" by Apocalyptica. You can find it on Youtube, by a user named "senshizelda". ^^)_

_Prologue_

_Rome, One day before Katrina's arrival…_

_In the cradle of twilight and under the silver crescent of the waning moon the city of Rome slept, its buildings dark and quiet amidst the wispy smoke from candles as their soft light was extinguished with a gentle breath. Mothers and husbands ushered their children indoors while the sky darkened, their faces tired yet merry as they gently steered the giggling or petulant offspring into the safety of the home and hearth._

_House by house, street by street, the lights of Rome went out in unison with the last vestiges of the sun's rays, which lingered a moment more on the horizon like the last gasp of a dying warrior. _

_All was silent, dark, and still._

_Or it would have been, if the serenity had not been shattered by the rapid pace of a terrified-looking man in the white toga of the Roman Senate, which trailed behind him like linen streamers as he hurtled down the cobblestone streets at breakneck pace. His chest heaved like a blacksmith's bellows while the fat in his belly wobbled pendulously, and he never once paused to wipe the cold, fearful sweat from his balding brow as his sandals threatened to trip him up._

_The greedy public official certainly looked like a greasy and unappealing soul, with a bald, perfectly rounded head, a protuberant belly and arms and legs as thick as sausages. His fingers were short and fat, his eyes piggish and greedy, and his skin naturally oily and studded with acne. _

_The Senator's name was Licinnius, and he was quite literally running for his life._

_It had been partially due to his naturally avaricious nature that Licinnius had begun embezzling money to fatten his purse strings during his tenure as Official Treasurer of Rome. As a high-ranking and veteran Senator, Caesar had entrusted him with much of the funds meant for improving the Empire's infrastructure, but Licinnius had had other, more self-centered plans. For years the corrupted Senator had slowly added to his growing coffers, but now it had been Licinnius' abject misfortune to have his scheme discovered. Caesar had, according to his closest advisors, been so furious at Licinnius' deception that his anger could be heard in every corner of the palace._

_Licinnius had not heeded the fearful whispers of his "friends" in the Senate, when his ruse had been unearthed. "You have incurred the wrath of Caesar!" they'd told him. "You will never reach the gates of Rome alive, for The Emperor's Hand will strike you down before the night is up!"_

"_Bah!" Licinnius had scoffed, flapping a flabby arm contemptuously. "As if I am frightened of bedtime stories and fairy tales! How low the Senate of Rome has fallen, to be so terrified of one who lives only in the realm of myth and fantasy! Caesar keeps you all under his thumb with nothing more than superstition!"_

_It's really rather extraordinary just how completely _wrong_ that statement would turn out to be._

_Beads of sweat dripped down Licinnius' upturned nose, and he darted around the corner in a vain attempt to evade the shadowy pursuer who dogged his every move. High above, in the Roman skyline, a menacing shadow vaulted easily from one rooftop to the next with his grey cloak streaming behind him, and two pairs of merciless golden eyes stared down like those of some bird of prey as Licinnius' strength began to flag._

_The leather sandals that the Senator wore as a symbol of his office now proved to be his undoing, for the loose footwear quite suddenly threw off Licinnius' balance and sent him tumbling to the cobblestones with an agonized gasp whilst his ankle broke with an audible _snap_. In a jumble of white and purple robes the embezzler landed in the street, and a soft moan escaped his lips as he turned his gaze upward._

_What Licinnius saw turned the blood in his veins to freezing ice._

_The relentless foe who now loomed high above the Senator's broken form seemed to be darkness itself given form. Almost every part of his body was hidden beneath his swirling cloak of slate-colored grey, and the sparse light of the silvery moon turned him into a silhouette of overpowering menace that seemed to ooze the pure dread and ominous intent from every fiber of his being._

_The only thing Licinnius saw was his __eyes._

_From deep within the void of the obscuring hood they stared balefully down at him, burning with all the intensity of the flames of Hell while the moon's eerie luminescence gave them an eldritch glow like that of some fell creature._

_There was no mercy in those eyes._

_Licinnius frantically reached for the change purse at his belt and held it out in an increasingly futile attempt to save his own skin. "L-Look, I don't know what he's paying you, but whatever it is, I'll triple it!" he cried, jiggling the coins for emphasis._

_Those evil-looking eyes never once left Licinnius own as his tormentor sent the purse's contents skittering upon the ground with a contemptuous kick. The yellow metal gleamed in the silvery light as the assassin closed the distance between himself and his terrified prey._

_With one, fluid movement, the shrouded figure unsheathed a short-bladed, double-edged sword from the sheath across his back. The weapon's once-burnished surface had, for the sake of adhering to stealth, been blackened over a smoky fire so as not to reflect any light that fell upon it. The pitch-colored metal cast a shadow over Licinnius' pleading face as Kurzan raised his arm, intoning, "The will of the Emperor is first…"_

"_HAVE MERCY!"_

"_And foremost."_

_The weapon descended with all the swiftness of the Grim Reaper's scythe, and the golden coins that lay upon the cobblestones were suddenly spattered with blood that turned black under the scarce moonlight…_

_Now…_

It would be an understatement of such magnitude as to border on the imbecilic to say that Katrina Placidae felt distinctly unnerved as she moved quietly down the corridor in a whisper of satin cloth and velvet shoes. This was mainly due to the fact that no more than two paces behind her strode the silent, foreboding figure of Kurzan Vortigern, his armor clanking softly in tandem with his pace. His golden eyes glittered menacingly in the light of the blazing torches that still blazed on either side of the massive marble hallway, and the assassin's face could have been carved from stone as well for all the lack of expression it bore.

Katrina's stomach gurgled ominously, but it was not for the lack of food that her digestive tract began to receive such distress. Her uncle had treated her to a lavish feast earlier in the evening, but though the food had been delicious, it had been far too rich and strong for Katrina's simple tastes. Having lived most of her life thus far in the seclusion of the Italian hill country, Katrina was unused to the strong, spicy and exotic dishes that the Emperor and his subordinates seemed to enjoy. It had been at her uncle's urging that Katrina had ventured out of her culinary comfort zone, and now she was apparently paying the price for it.

The sautéed crab, spiced, roast pork and heavy dark wine threatened to make Katrina nauseous, and she held a hand discreetly to her side as the room began to swim.

"Next time I will stick with vegetables and fresh water," she muttered to herself, taking a deep, cleansing breath in an attempt to relieve her protesting stomach.

Like a wraith of smoke and ash, Kurzan seemed to suddenly materialize at Katrina's elbow, towering over her like a pillar of pure menace while those unnatural eyes gazed down upon her. "Are you ill, my lady?" he asked, his voice a quiet murmur that belied his lethality.

Katrina flinched, both startled by how suddenly the assassin had appeared and more than a little perturbed by how silently he'd done it. Her brown eyes registered a flicker of fear before her breathing returned to its normal pace, and Katrina tried not to let on just how unnerved she felt in his presence when she finally spoke.

"I appreciate the concern," she said, straight-faced. "But I feel fine, thank you."

"No, you don't," Kurzan replied instantly.

Katrina deflated somewhat. "Is it that obvious?"

"I always know when someone is lying," Kurzan told her, but he was careful to keep his tone humble.

"Oh, really?" Katrina made no attempt to conceal her skepticism. "How?"

"I can smell it."

_The scary part is that I actually _believe_ him_, Katrina thought with a shudder. Then, knowing that there was no use in keeping the charade going, she gave up any lingering notions of stoicism as her stomach threatened to twist into a pretzel. "Dinner didn't agree with me," Katrina said ruefully, glancing at her gurgling gut. "I fear the cooking of the palace chefs is far too rich for my tastes."

Kurzan inclined his head. "The royal physician is the best in the Empire, my lady," he offered. "Shall I send for him?"

"I would prefer not to make myself appear fragile in front of Uncle and everyone else," Katrina replied. "But I would not turn down something to settle my stomach, if you happen to know where the magician keeps his apothecary."

Kurzan immediately produced a small glass vial filled with some kind of crushed herb from somewhere within his voluminous grey cloak, and Katrina stared as he held it out to her without so much as a word.

"How did you-?"

"In the service of your Uncle, I have learned much about the potency of certain plants," Kurzan told her, his serious tone never once changing. "This is good for alleviating aches and pains, but it can be lethal if you ingest too much of it."

Katrina was about to ask why he would have such a thing on his person, but then she turned rather green as horror suffused her belly. Her eyes were drawn to the variety of small pouches that hung by the dagger at Kurzan's waist, and she almost felt like vomiting as the herb's intended use dawned upon her. "Poison," she whispered. "You use this to poison people, don't you?"

"Yes," Kurzan replied, without a trace of emotion.

"And yet that doesn't seem to bother you."

"It does not matter," Kurzan said flatly, almost as if he were reciting a lesson that had been drilled into his skull. "Nothing matters, save for the will of the Emperor."

Katrina felt her stomach roil like a boiling cauldron, and she gently pushed the proffered medicine away. "On second thought," she said shakily, unlocking the door to the lavish living quarters that had been prepared for her, "I think I'll take my chances."

Kurt took up a watchful position just outside of Katrina's door, bowing his head in both acquiescence of Katrina's wishes and in acknowledgment of the subliminal message not to push the matter any further.

"As you wish…my lady," he bowed, his quiet monotone never changing.

Katrina shut the door behind her, her heart fearful once more under Kurzan's gaze. Those golden pools, when in the muted glow of the guttering torches, shone with an eerie light like those of a wild animal caught in a flashlight's beam.

Though Kurzan was supposed to protect her, sleep did not come easily to Katrina Placidae that night…

A/N: DAMN! Kurzan seems pretty hardcore, huh? I know it's a shorter chapter than the last one, but I needed to get it out of the way before the _real _fun begins! And I DO have lots of fun planned for all of you, rest assured of that! What will happen when the fair Katrina is forced to spend the coming day in the company of her stoic bodyguard? What mishaps will ensue when Katrina is under Kurzan's protection? And what dark doings are taking root in the depths of the Imperial Palace? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	3. Chapter 3

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 3: Out and About

It was the bright, golden rays of the mid-morning sun upon her eyelids that finally roused Katrina from her fitful slumber with a noise not unlike the mewl of a small kitten. Blinking sleepily, Katrina pushed the silken sheets aside before sitting upright and stretching mightily, her mouth opened wide in a cavernous yawn that seemed totally unfit for a lady of her stature. She shuddered slightly as her bare feet touched the cold marble tiles, and only after pulling a red robe about her person so as to adhere to propriety did Katrina open the door just a fraction.

She was surprised to see that Kurzan was still at his post just outside her chambers, and so still and silent was he that the assassin may as well have been carved from granite. The only movement Katrina noticed was the small, steady rise and fall of his armored chest, and if Kurzan's breathing had been any slighter she would have thought he'd died while still on his feet.

Kurzan's dead eyes flicked in her direction, and Katrina barely restrained herself from taking an instinctive step backward-

-But as quickly as those unnatural orbs alighted upon her, Kurzan turned his gaze away, as if looking upon Katrina directly was somehow taboo. "Did you rest well, my lady?" he asked in his characteristically flat voice, bowing at the waist as a sign of respect.

"Erm…yes," Katrina answered stupidly, not knowing what else to say. "Have you been there all this time?"

"Of course," Kurzan seemed somewhat confused. "Master ordered me not to leave your side, my lady."

"Do you not need rest as well?" Katrina's tone was bewildered as her natural compassion took over.

"That is irrelevant," Kurzan replied instantly. "Meaningless, compared to what my lady requires."

Katrina's skin threatened to break out in goosebumps. "Well…if you want to help, perhaps you would tell one of the servants to draw a bath for me."

"At once, my lady."

"And please make sure the water is hot, okay?"

"Yes, my lady."

Kurzan vanished down the hall with surprising speed, and Katrina shut the door quietly while she anticipated a long soak in the steaming water. With deft fingers, she reached for her nightgown hem so as to begin to disrobe-

-_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

Katrina halted, momentarily startled by the insistent knocking, and with her bedclothes still mercifully upon her person she swung the door ajar and quite nearly exploded into hysterical laughter.

A very sodden and soapy Kurzan Vortigern stared back at her with a somewhat bewildered expression on his face. He seemed oblivious to how ridiculous he looked with the immense, water-filled metal basin held between his outstretched arms. His armor and tunic were liberally splattered with soapy bubbles and sloshing water, and globs of white, porous suds clung comically to his cheeks and shoulders. Water ran down his arms and dripped from his dampened clothes as the still-steaming liquid sloshed gently in its container, and Kurzan began to look worried as Katrina smothered her gales of hilarity with herculean effort.

"My lady?" he asked, his voice startlingly sincere. "Are you all right?"

"No," Katrina squeaked, hiding her smile behind her hand. "I'm fine. Bring the basin inside, Kurzan, but try not to get water all over the floor."

"Oh, no," Kurzan shook his head vigorously. "I cannot enter your chambers, my lady. Master ordered me not to."

"And yet Uncle _did _order you to attend to my needs, didn't he?" Katrina asked, trying to appeal to Kurzan's way of thinking. "And right now, I need a bath, okay? I am not indecent or lewd, so I hardly think any ill will come of taking just two steps inside."

"What do you mean by that?" Kurzan asked, confused.

Katrina stared. _Is he serious? Can one who makes his trade in bloodshed and murder actually be so…naive?_ "Never mind," she told him after a moment's incredulity. "Just bring it in, okay?"

Kurzan's expressionless face rippled for a moment before he finally acquiesced. "Very well, my lady," he said, taking a pair of _very _small steps into Katrina's bedroom and setting the washtub down.

"You didn't need to get that yourself," Katrina reminded him.

"Master said that no one else was to be trusted with your welfare," Kurzan replied, as if that was reason enough.

With soapy bubbles and droplets of water dripping from his body, the assassin hurriedly made his exit and resumed his ward just beyond his charge's door.

Katrina glanced after him as she began to disrobe. _What a strange sort of fellow he is, _the princess thought to herself as she slid into the steaming bathwater with a contented sigh. _He kills and slays at the slightest nod or gesture from Uncle, and yet he seems…strangely innocent._

Her cheeks turned pink for a moment as she soaped herself down. _Not that _I _have any interest in *that*, of course!_

_Later__…_

It was a very rejuvenated and refreshed-feeling Katrina that turned an elaborate key in the lock of her chambers. Her hair was still slightly damp with the last remnants of the bath Kurzan had so laboriously drawn for her, and the Emperor's niece looked absolutely stunning in the white Roman-style dress that displayed her flawless figure. Golden teardrop-shaped earrings hung from Katrina's ears while a fine chain necklace of the purest silver was fastened around her neck, and with these tasteful accents she looked a vision of beauty made flesh. Her brown eyes were now bright, cheerful, and alert, and yet Katrina felt somewhat surprised when, upon stepping into the corridor, she discovered that Kurzan was nowhere to be seen. To the left and right Katrina turned her fair head in an attempt to locate the absent bodyguard, but there was not a trace of the assassin to be found anywhere.

Regardless of her social station and the fact that Kurzan was nothing more than her servant, Katrina's inherent kindness caused her to feel somewhat worried for him. _He must have had a good reason for just up and leaving, _she reasoned with herself. _After all, he doesn't seem like the sort to just abandon his duties._

A thin, hook-nosed servant bearing an assortment of stained and dirty yet elaborate silver plates rounded the nearest corner, and since Katrina didn't have any better ideas in mind, she decided to inquire of him where Kurzan might have vanished to.

"Excuse me," the princess said, clearing her throat to gain the steward's attention.

The unsuspecting tray-bearer nearly dropped his precarious load of dinnerware in shock as he hastened to bow to Katrina's sudden and unexpected appearance. "M-my lady," he said, his voice shaking somewhat. "Forgive me. I did not expect to be graced with your presence this morning."

"I apologize for startling you," Katrina replied. "But there was a man standing guard just over there moments ago. I was wondering if you, or anyone, might have noticed where he may have gone."

Fear suffused the manservant's face. "You mean _him_?" he asked with a shudder. "The assassin? If I might speak bluntly, milady, we in the palace kitchens don't go about making small talk with one such as he. Most of the other servants are afraid to even make eye contact with that one, miss, and when he turns the corner, we usually start heading the other way."

Katrina tried to ignore the pang of sympathy for Kurzan that suddenly flared in her heart. "If you did not see him, the do you perhaps know where I might find him? Are there areas of the palace that he is known to frequent?"

"He has a small chamber down that-a-way," the waiter replied, pointing in the direction he'd indicated. "It's just across the hall from the armory, for convenience's sake, if you get my meaning, milady. He practices in there for hours at a time, he does. If he's not out snuffin' someone or other, then that's likely where you'll find him."

There was no need for the servant to finish speaking. Katrina's footsteps were already dissipating as she hastened down the hall, and so hurried was her pace that she seemed to almost _fly _down the drafty corridor. Katrina reached her destination slightly out of breath, and her chest rose and fell somewhat more rapidly than usual as she peeked into the dimly lit room that served as the palace's weapons repository.

Katrina's eyes widened. _Wow._

_Water _was the first thing that came to mind as a stunned Katrina Placidae silently watched a bare-chested Kurzan Vortigern swing his blackened swords like the arms of some monstrous windmill in a deadly dance. Fluidity and swiftness were what characterized his fighting style, and so quick and light on his feet was he that the keen weapons in his grasp made the air _thrum _with a curious droning noise. The scalpel-sharp edges of those ebon swords made a curious ring as they sliced through the air, and with his lethal grace Kurzan resembled nothing less than some kind of lethal acrobat. Faster and faster his form became, until the pitch-colored metal that he clasped in his hands became a dizzying blur, and Katrina was hard-pressed to keep her eyes focused as Kurzan's speed reached fever pitch-

-But fascinated terror turned to revulsion as Katrina realized that Kurzan's entire form seemed to be covered with _scars._

Across his back, down his arms and even on the nape of his neck, Kurzan's form was hideously marred with ropy lines of jaggedly healed flesh where his velvety-looking fur no longer grew. Short and long, pocked with stitch-marks old and new, Kurzan unwittingly told Katrina in silent yet utterly explicit terms the toll his hard life had taken upon his young body. Parallel stripes, remnants from Kurzan's days in the arena, denoted countless lashes with the stinging whip while his furry arms bore grim reminders from the sword or spear. Katrina felt her kind heart wrench with newfound pity, but despite the obvious wear and tear that Kurzan had thus far endured-

-Katrina's face heated up like a furnace, for no matter the injuries that Kurzan had borne, he was still _very _well-built. He was certainly fit, but not overwhelmingly so; There did not seem to be an ounce of fat upon his entire body, and the abdominal and pectoral muscles of his scarred torso had been so well- honed in the course of his trade that they were clearly visible without even the slightest amount of flexing. Indeed, the "six-pack" that Kurzan sported would have drawn the eye of many a young lady had his appearance been more generic, and his well-toned arms and legs spoke volumes of Kurzan's physical prowess. A sheen of glistening sweat further added to his bizarre yet not unpleasing appearance, and the layer of perspiration that dampened what remained of Kurzan's fur completed a spectacle that took the princess' breath away.

But Katrina felt distinctly uneasy and out-of-place. Doubtless that this was the only room in the palace where Kurzan could find the time to be alone with his thoughts, she realized, and from the look on Kurzan's face Katrina swore that he was close to actually _enjoying _himself. It was both improper and utterly insensitive for her to be doing this, she realized, feeling rather guilty. This room of steel and iron was Kurzan's sanctuary, and now Katrina almost felt like she'd _defiled _it somehow by intruding like this.

_I should not be here, _Katrina told herself, turning to leave before Kurzan noticed her. _I will wait in my chamber until he returns. _

"My lady?"

Kurzan's flat voice stopped the princess's hasty exit cold, and Katrina fought to keep an ashamed expression from her face as she turned to face him. There was no doubt that he'd be extremely dismayed that she'd seen him so-

-And yet, if anything, it was _Kurzan _who looked thoroughly chastised. Katrina was flabbergasted to see the noticeably still-shirtless assassin drop to both knees, placing the sole of her foot against his head in the ultimate sign of submission.

"Forgive me, my lady," he murmured, his voice low. If Katrina hadn't known him better, she would have sworn that he actually sounded somewhat timid.

_Forgive him? He didn't do anything wrong! _A stunned Katrina thought.

"I have shirked my duties and left my post unattended," Kurzan continued, his gaze downcast. "I will not make any excuses for my irresponsibility, my lady, and I will accept whatever judgment you pass upon me, though I pray that it will be swift."

_He must not have thought I'd be out of the bath so soon, _Katrina realized. _He probably just came here to pass the time. Given another minute or so, he would have been back already. But then I had to go and spy on him, _she added, feeling sick. _And now he thinks that he has committed some grievous crime…_

The hilt of one of Kurzan's blades, still slick with sweat, was abruptly thrust into Katrina's hand by her thoroughly chastened servant. The assassin never once raised his eyes as he shoved the weapon into the princess's slender fingers, and Katrina only just avoided vomiting as she realized what Kurzan expected her to do.

_He expects me…to use this on him? He thinks that I am to beat him with the flat of his own weapon? _Katrina's chest became tight as horror restricted her breathing, and she very nearly dropped the proffered instrument of punishment from distaste. _What kind of monster does he think I am?_

"I'm…not mad at you," she forced out at last, her voice small. "You can, uh, stand up now."

Kurzan slowly rose to loom over Katrina once more, and with shaking fingers she handed the blackened sword back to him. "You can have this back," the princess added, trying in vain to look anywhere but at Kurzan's bare torso as he slid the weapon back in its sheath. The short, meaningful glance that he turned upon Katrina hinted at the gratitude that he still dared not voice aloud, despite her compassion toward him.

Without a trace of self-consciousness, Kurzan grabbed a ragged scrap of cloth and used it to swab himself down, his muscles rippling as he did so.

Katrina's face promptly began heating up to such a degree that one could have toasted marshmallows upon her cheeks.

"My lady?" Kurzan asked, turning to lay the towel aside and glancing at her with very genuine concern. "Are you taken with fever? Your face is red."

"No," Katrina's voice seemed somewhat small as her cheeks became a rather lovely shade of vermillion. "I…I'm fine." _What on Earth is wrong with me? I should _not _be looking at him like this! He is a servant, for crying out loud!_

But though Katrina was neither coddled nor sheltered, and despite her higher place on the social ladder, the fact remained that Katrina was still _human. _Her uncle had sent numerous suitors her way over the years, to be sure, but the young princess had never seen any man in such a…_natural _state.

Kurzan, utterly oblivious, nodded seriously and turned to pull his ragged tunic over his shoulders. Katrina almost let out a sigh of relief as the assassin next donned his characteristic metal cuirass, but even so the young woman could not help but be stunned at the fact that her momentary captivation had gone completely unnoticed by the now armed-and-ready assassin.

_He really _is _naive, _Katrina thought as she finally found her tongue once more. "I am of a mind to reacquaint myself with Uncle's city," she announced, trying to take her mind off such things. "If I am going to be living here, it would be best if I knew my way around."

"That would be ill-advised, my lady," Kurzan's voice was low, as if he feared speaking unless he was spoken to first. "The streets are filled with cutpurses and thugs. It would be safer if you remained in the palace."

"So the palace is to be my prison?" Katrina snorted. "I think not. Uncle's home is beautiful, Kurzan, but I don't want to be in here forever! Do you not step outside yourself from time to time?"

"Only if Master orders me to," Kurzan murmured, before his voice grew so quiet that it became inaudible to Katrina's ears. "And never in the daytime."

_I probably should have expected something like that, _Katrina thought with slight exasperation, the barest hint of Kurzan's insecurity slipping by her utterly unnoticed. "Well, you said yourself that Uncle ordered you not to leave my side, correct? That means you _have _to accompany me on a walk through the city. So there," she added, poking her tongue out in a playful manner as her voice took on a tone of mock severity.

For a length of time to miniscule to measure, Katrina noticed that for the second time that morning, Kurzan's dead, flat eyes showed a flash of emotion in their amber pools. But whatever _this _feeling was, it was much more ambiguous to a puzzled Katrina_._ Indeed, whatever he was feeling in that fraction of a second she had no idea, but it was _there _nonetheless.

"As you command, my lady," he said finally, averting his gaze from her once more.

Though Katrina's answering smile was genuine, she had no way of knowing that what she had seen in those golden depths was _fear…_

_The Roman Marketplace_

Despite the fact that Kurzan Vortigern followed her as easily as her own shadow, Katrina was thoroughly enjoying her impromptu tour of the city of Caesar. After so many years in the secluded country, the busy markets and shops of Rome seemed like a whole new world in Katrina's eyes.

It was indeed an impressive scene, a cornucopia of sights, sounds and smells of such rich variety as to make one's senses swim. The pungent stench of animal droppings was mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of baked goods fresh out of the oven, the spicy hints exotic fruits and sweet-smelling sticks of incense. Bearded, grizzled farmers stood proudly alongside their carts of fresh produce while merchant guildsmen offered the finest products of metal and woodwork: weapons forged by the master smiths, hand-crafted vases and jugs of ceramic and clay, tiny bars of fragrant, lavender-colored soap and household necessities of the greatest quality, just to name a few. Everywhere could be heard the metallic _clanking _of coins as they passed from hand to hand amidst the clattering of wooden wheels upon the cobblestones, and the ceaseless clucking of squabbling chickens, the bass lowing of the heifer and steer and the screeching of monkeys in their wire cages mingled jarringly with the deafening din of a thousand simultaneous conversations. Sellers and customers alike tried to outdo each other in volume as they extolled the virtues of their merchandise or haggled good-naturedly over prices. Mothers tightly clutched the hands of many a basket-toting child while they went about their morning shopping or engaged in friendly gossip with neighbors and friends, and all the while awnings of fabric in every shade imaginable painted the city streets in all the colors of the rainbow.

The assassin and his charge had scarcely been in the midst of such unorganized chaos when a rather unfortunate pickpocket tried to cut Katrina's change purse free from her belt. Kurzan promptly fractured the man's wrist in three places, and the luckless thief was breathless with fear as the tip of the mutant's dagger pricked the skin beneath his jaw.

"The only reason I spare your life this day is because you're not worthy of death upon my blade," Kurzan told him, his voice as dead as the flat, golden eyes that bored into those of his victim before the assassin swiftly severed three of the man's fingers. A large, furry hand clapped over the luckless criminal's mouth to cover his agonized screech, and blood spewed from the wounds as Kurzan whispered in his ear."Perhaps your hands will not be so idle now. Get out of my sight, you wretch," he added, throwing the thief contemptuously to the ground before stating, quite simply, "If I see you again, I will kill you."

The terrified pickpocket darted off into an adjacent alley, cradling his bleeding and broken hand, and Kurzan surreptitiously resumed his post by Katrina's side as she gazed with fascination at the large owl which dominated the display of a foreign peddler of exotic animals. The salesman, being a shrewd fellow, was quick to elaborate on the massive bird's virtues.

"A rare treasure, that one is," he said in a voice thick with an Eastern accent. "Hatched right from the egg and fed by hand, young miss, and, if I might be so bold to say, he's _very _well-trained. Watch."

With a flourish, the seller opened the door to the bird's confinement and grinned as the huge raptor clambered obediently onto his forearm. "Care to try?" the man offered Katrina, holding his arm out to her. "He won't hurt you, young miss. I'd stake my life on it."

Kurzan, his identity now concealed not only by his cavernous hood but also by a tight-fitting, black face mask that left only his eyes unhidden, made a show of clutching his sword hilt. "I just might take that bet," he warned.

The merchant quailed, but Katrina thumped him playfully on the arm. "Stop scaring him," she chided the assassin gently, holding her arm out for the bird to perch upon. "Life is far too short not to take risks every once in a while, Kurzan."

The golden eyes widened, as if he was surprised that she'd spoken to him so casually, but Kurzan's astonishment was lost upon Katrina as the owl promptly latched onto her bicep with a short hop and stared up at her with curiosity. The princess gasped in sudden delight, and the fearsome-looking bird of prey hooted softly, as if in approval, when Katrina began stroking its feathers with her fingertip.

"Sure I couldn't tempt you?" the peddler asked, his eyes shining at the thought of a profit. "You wouldn't lose by this bird, miss, not at all."

"You're very generous," Katrina smiled, handing the owl back to him, "But I fear that my uncle does not hold with animals in the house."

"A shame," the merchant sighed, patting Katrina's hand in farewell. "But I had to give it a shot, eh?"

Had it not been for the fact that Katrina was enjoying herself so, Kurzan would have taken the peddler's head off right then and there for _daring _to touch her so. The salesman would never know how close he came to death that day.

Katrina resumed walking, intent on seeing more, and the menacing glare that Kurzan shot back at the innocuous pet dealer did not escape her. "Will you _stop_ that?" she said out of the corner of her mouth. "He wasn't _doing _anything! For heaven's sake, would it be so difficult for you to lighten up a little bit?"

"Apologies, my lady," Kurzan's anger deflated somewhat as he spoke. "I got…carried away."

"Just try not to scare anyone else, okay?" Katrina smiled up at him. "And who knows? You might end up enjoying yourself entirely by accident."

"Yes, my lady," the assassin replied blandly.

"And another thing," Katrina glanced at him once more, her tone gentle. "You don't have to call me that all the time, Kurzan. Would it be so hard for you to call me by my name?"

Something akin to confusing rippled under Kurzan's mask, and when he spoke, his monotone was somewhat different. "It would…not be fitting for a servant to address you so, my lady," he said at last.

"Very well," Katrina sighed, and she was surprised to find herself a little disappointed before a steaming, glaze-covered pastry caught her eye. "Uncle will never know," Katrina murmured to herself with a grin, jangling her coin purse thoughtfully.

"Don't bother," a new, unfamiliar voice said. "This one's on me."

The man who'd spoken _plonked _the appropriate number of coinage onto the bakery stall, and he bowed smoothly as he held the still-steaming pastry out to her. "The simplest pleasures in life are the best ones, I always say. And being lucky enough to behold one of such beauty is _very _pleasant indeed."

Katrina flushed as she accepted the gift, but even so she took a moment to study the man who had begun so shamelessly flirting with her.

He was certainly handsome, Katrina had to admit, with a well-proportioned face and two clear, blue eyes that twinkled with merriment and playfulness as they sat over a delicate nose and a mouth made for smiling. The newcomer seemed to be as every bit as well-built as Katrina knew Kurzan to be; his broad shoulders, strong arms and sturdy legs were evidence of strenuous physical activity, and the garishly colored crimson shirt and pants he wore went well with the somewhat pale color of his skin. Indeed, this man had a roguish air about him that was accentuated by the variety of long knives he wore at his belt, and with a twist of his palm he seemed to produce a small rose from thin air.

"Might I inquire as to how a lady like yourself comes to be alone on such a fine morning?" he asked. "An injustice, it is, for one such so stunning to be left in want of company. I cannot even imagine why-"

Kurzan Vortigern seemed to appear from nowhere, and the edges of his twin blades formed a sinister X-shape as the cold steel kissed the flesh of the man's neck, and his head was forced back as the assassin tightened his grip.

But despite the prospect of an imminent and rather messy demise, this man seemed not at all afraid. If anything, his face split into a knowing smile while he glanced at Katrina's protector from the corner of his vision.

"Ah," he said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "_That's _why. How've you been, Kurzan?"

"None the better for your asking, _Hazar_," Kurzan growled back through gritted teeth.

"I must admit that I'm rather surprised to see you out and about during the daylight hours," Hazar continued. "But I can honestly say I'm glad you decided to get out of that drafty old palace for once. And to pay me a visit, no less?" Hazar added, with faux emotion making his voice shake. "And to think, here I was convinced that you'd forgotten all those good times we had."

"This has _nothing _to do with you, _thief_," Kurzan spat back.

"Oh, yes, as if _you're _any better, working as the Emperor's _attack dog,_" Hazar retorted with a surprisingly childish tone. "Still eating the scraps from his table, or have you retired? Don't worry, my dear," he added, addressing the appalled-looking Katrina. "We always meet like this."

"I serve the Empire. You serve only yourself."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Hazar clutched a hand to his chest, as though wounded. "I'm just looking out for number one, that's all."

"Shut up. If you were any other man, I would kill you right here," Kuran snarled.

"An awfully public place for a murder, isn't it?" Hazar told him jovially. "But therein lies the paradox! I know that you won't kill me, Kurzan, because you know damn well that no one else can keep the Court of Rogues in line, and I won't kill _you_ because you're just too much _fun!_ Our jobs would be so darn _boring _without our friendly little rivalry, am I right?"

"Keep talking, and I might be tempted to find out."

"What's the Court of Rogues?" Katrina couldn't help but ask.

"Hazar is the leader of Rome's criminal element," Kurzan snorted. "The so-called 'King of Thieves,' my lady. He owns and operates the vast majority of the Empire's illegal operations: protection rackets, robbery, muggings, and such. There's not a crime within Rome's borders that he doesn't play a part in."

"The system _works_," Hazar sighed happily, "But I _will _say, in my own defense, that I keep the common folk out of the line of fire, so to speak."

"Your trade isn't any less ugly," Kurzan snorted. "It's just cleaner."

"Again, pot to the kettle," Hazar quipped, "But what, might I inquire, is your connection with this _lovely _young lady? Surely she…" A knowing smirk split the crime lord's handsome face as he became positively jubilant. "Is she _your _woman? Congratulations, my friend! You've _finally _hit puberty! Oh, truly this is a day for joviality; I always knew you had it in you, Kurzan! I do hope his 'skills' were satisfactory," he told Katrina in a loud whisper. "The poor boy doesn't have much experience with that sort of thing, you know."

Katrina's mouth dropped open at the way Hazar talked about such things. "You…you… _scoundrel!"_

"It's a gift, my lady," Hazar winked back.

There was no way of telling what effect all of this might have had on Kurzan himself, for the face-mask he wore did wonders to hide whatever feeling he may have expressed. Hazar, true to form, took advantage of the momentary, tense silence to slip out from under the assassin's hold and flap his hand comically in farewell.

"I've enjoyed our little chat, Kurzan, truly I have," the Thief Lord said, sighing with overblown melodrama. "But alas, I fear that business and work wait for no man. I am _especially _looking forward to seeing _you _again, beautiful," he added, bowing deeply to Katrina. "Do try not to pine for me while I'm gone, would you?"

With a merry wink and a huge smile, the slippery thief melded back into the jumble of humanity and was lost to sight.

"I really _hate _him," Kurzan muttered. "I apologize, my lady. If I had known he'd be here, I would have taken you on a different route through the city."

"I can see why," Katrina told him with dry amusement before she glanced up at the assassin with an inquisitive look. "But I will admit that you two seemed to be rather familiar with each other…"

The unspoken question hung in the air for a second before Kurzan dismissed it. "It is no cause for concern, my lady."

"And you are certain about that?" Katrina asked.

The assassin as silent for just a moment, and his dead gaze seemed to grow distant for just a second before he snapped back to reality.

"I am, my lady."

A/N: WOW! That was a long chapter! XD I hope you all got a kick out of Hazar, because he WILL be back! But what unseen enemy lurks in the Imperial Palace? What adventures lie ahead for Katrina and her mysterious bodyguard? And for the love of Christ, is there ANY Diet Coke left in my refrigerator? Find out the answers to these questions and more in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	4. Chapter 4

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

_(A/N: I just wanna say that the Akatsuki theme from "Naruto" goes really well with the epilogue of this chapter. If you like, you can find it on Youtube, by a user named "ptasznick." ^^)_

Chapter 4: Seeds of Betrayal: The Unseen Foe

_Rome, 2:00 a.m._

The Eternal City's Upper District was one of opulence, class, and sophistication, to the everyday Roman. It was to the plebeian citizen what Beverly Hills is to those of the middle-class. Only the obscenely wealthy and rich could afford to have a residence here: high-ranking individuals in the Imperial government who had earned the favor of the Emperor were often given a luxurious, grandiose summer home or retreat as an example to others in the Royal Palace. In point of fact, it became almost a sign of social and political status among the Empire's more well-off citizens for one to claim such an extravagant living space for his own, a way of asserting his rank in the Roman hierarchy so as to gain the respect and envy of everyone around him. To live here was to be able to own the best of everything: the best food, the best wine, the most modern of conveniences, and more coin than any singular individual could spend in ten lifetimes.

It was, to put it bluntly, a country club on steroids.

There was no such thing as "over the top" in the Upper District. Each looming, opulent estate of gold-veined marble or fine-hewn stone was protected by oversized, wrought-iron gates of exquisite craftsmanship, and more often than not these were guarded by heavily armed men belonging to any one of a dozen different private securities. It was not uncommon for an Upper District resident to keep a small, private army within the grounds of his estate, not only to deter unwanted guests but also to absolutely pulverize anyone stupid enough to attempt a burglary.

But the rich and admittedly somewhat snobbish folk of this exclusive neighborhood failed to realize two _very _important things. One, earning the favor of Caesar may have been difficult, but _keeping _oneself in the Empire's esteem was much, much harder.

Secondly, no amount of security could possibly hope to intimidate or keep out Kurzan Vortigern. "The Emperor's Hand" was in a league of his own, and the thuggish brutes that stood in his way never ignited a flicker of fear in his steadily beating heart.

The assassin had been born and raised on the field of battle. He feared no living thing.

Beneath the mottled gray hood that shadowed his face, Kurzan's golden eyes moved like roulette balls in their sockets, taking in every detail of his surroundings at inhuman speed so as to ensure the proverbial coast was clear. Satisfied that the mission had not been compromised, the assassin moved scarcely a rustle of cloth to denote his presence, vaulting quite gracefully over the estate's outer wall and perching momentarily upon it like a menacing gargoyle.

Kurzan's brain was going a mile a minute, each sense sharpened and hyper-aware as he mentally noted anything that could help or hinder the assignment that Master had given him.

Four men, bearing torches, were patrolling the courtyard in an overlapping pattern. Eight more were stationed on each side of the house in teams of two. The front door, obviously, was locked, and the lower windows were barred. The entire structure was dark, which either meant that Kurzan's latest victim was asleep or somewhere else entirely.

Only one way of entry presented itself to the assassin: a small window, likely made for air circulation or perhaps a servants' room, had not been latched. Though the shutters were closed, the latch had been left unturned. The result of this was that Kurzan's way inside _looked _tightly shut but could in fact be easily opened with a gentle push.

The unfortunate guards, on the other hand, would have been disconcerted to know that, for all of their intensive training and supposed expertise, Kurzan filed them away as less of a problem and more of a minor nuisance.

It was all a matter of timing. Kurzan's face seemed to be bowed as his hooded head partially obscured the silvery orb of the full moon, and the deadly assassin bided his time until an unsuspecting and quite oblivious sentry passed right underneath his piercing gaze. With the hem of his cloak swirling like Grim Reaper's robe, Kurzan landed on tiptoe behind the man's receding back. The sound of quietly ruffling grass made the guard turn around suddenly-

-Only to find that the space that Kurzan had occupied scarcely a second before was now conspicuously empty. The lawn was not even flattened where the mutant's feet had fallen, so light was his impact. The only noise that could be heard was the soft whistling of the wind as it wafted through the mansion grounds.

Convinced that the perimeter was secure, the luckless fellow let out a sigh of relief and turned around once more-

The cold, blackened steel of Kurzan's _gladius _blade promptly protruded from the back of the sentry's neck, and he gurgled red froth onto his breastplate as two flat, golden pupils met his own. The man's life sprayed from his body in a short, violent spurt of crimson, and Kurzan eased the rapidly cooling corpse to the ground before removing his blade from the body with a swift jerk.

The assassin did not pause to even acknowledge the man he'd killed. The slain one's life was meaningless, insignificant, compared to the will of the Emperor. It was at the command of said Emperor that Kurzan was here in the first place, to mete out merciless retribution upon the Roman general who dwelled at this estate.

To be honest, Caesar had not told him what this general had done to merit the punishment of death, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that Master had given orders, and Kurzan would obey them. That was the way it had been for almost four years since his liberation from the arena.

Caesar had given Kurzan his life back, offering a way out of the Coliseum and the endless fights upon its bloodied sands. It was chance that Kurzan had _dreamed _of, a thought that he'd treasured and relished but never hoped to attain. In return, the mutant had sworn an oath of undying loyalty to the Empire, and Kurzan had kept his end of the bargain in spades. So enormously grateful had he been to his Master that in all the time since coming into the Emperor's service, he never once questioned or disobeyed Caesar's orders.

And now, in between cutting the throats of the Empire's enemies, Caesar had been confident enough in his servant to entrust him with the safety of the young woman who now lay sleeping peacefully in her bed back in the Imperial Palace. That Master had such faith in him had made Kurzan's heart soar with joy, though he had not shown it. No one had ever believed in him before, Kurzan knew. No one back in the arena cared whether he survived his latest round; he had, in point of fact, been sent there to die. All gladiators met their doom before the roaring crowds sooner or later, but they were expected to die in a way that would please the unwashed masses. As soon as he'd been brought to the arena as a child, Kurzan had been a dead man, marked for a grisly demise.

But now, things were different.

_Master _believed in him.

_Master_ cared.

With speed forged from the urgency to complete his mission, Kurzan sped away from the still-twitching body and, at a straight run, headed for the statue of Venus that adorned the fountain in the courtyard's midst. The piece of stone artwork was at least sixteen feet high, and would thus provide a suitable vantage point from which to slip through the unlatched window Kurzan had noticed earlier.

"Hey! You!"

"Drop your weapon!"

"Hold it right there!"

The startled shouts of the remaining men-at-arms barely registered in Kurzan's ears as his twin ebon blades rasped from their sheaths. With the blades held at his sides, his arms at a slant to reduce drag, the assassin ran pell-mell at the cluster of bristling pikes and shields that barred his way. His cloak billowed behind him as Kurzan's pace grew faster and faster, and he threw himself into the teeth of the amassed foe-

The assassin's blurred form came to a sudden halt as he emerged from the enemy ranks without even breaking his stride, and as Kurzan returned the still-ringing blades to their scabbards, the sentries behind him collapsed as one amidst spurts of gore.

With an almost cat-like agility, Kurzan hauled himself onto the statue's head and somersaulted through the night air like an Olympic gymnast. His blunt fingers caught the windowsill in a grip tighter than an iron vise, and it was but the work of a moment for the assassin to pull himself through the opened shutters with practiced ease. The shadow seemed to be embracing Kurzan like an old friend as it swallowed him up, and the last trace the killer left of his presence was the gray hem of his cloak before it, too, vanished into the darkness.

It took less than five minutes for Kurzan to find his victim in the bedroom and complete his mission. The man was asleep, but the assassin was not bound to the rules of engagement. Kurzan's face could have been hewn from the Italian rock as he brought his blade down in a swift slash, severing the carotid artery and delivering the killing stroke. It was a method in keeping with his modus operandi: silent and quick, clean and efficient, and above all, utterly pitiless.

The officer was stone-dead in less than thirty seconds.

It took less time than that for Kurzan to make his escape. With his golden eyes glowing under the full moon, the most lethal man in all the Empire vanished into the night like smoke on the wind. He could not afford to linger, Kurzan knew, nor could he afford not to make haste back to the palace.

Instinctively, he _knew._

Master was calling him…

_Epilogue_

_An undisclosed location_

_The room was bathed in the sparse light of a single candle that sat upon the dingy table. The small room that served as this nefarious group's base of operations had a naturally conspiratorial air, being somewhat run-down and lacking windows of any kind. The door and walls were extra thick and custom-made, designed to thwart any eavesdroppers that might attempt to spy upon them. Globules of wax dripped slowly to the floor as the yellow flame flickered and danced, and on either side of the long table two aged and wooden benches groaned under the combined weight of their occupants._

_In a scene reminiscent of "The Godfather," nine traitors to the Empire sat in uncomfortable silence, their faces hidden beneath the voluminous black robes they wore._

_The tension was broken when one conspirator, presumably the group's leader, spoke up. "So. We're all here, then."_

"_Not all of us!" a man to his left growled. "General Aurelius is dead!"_

"_What?" a female speaker hissed. _

"_Last night, the way I heard it," the other one added. "Killed in his bed, along with a half a score of his men! The Emperor is on to us! He'll have us all murdered, one by one!"_

"_Cease your prattling, fools!"_

_The leader's voice brought any further exchange to a screeching halt, and the fear was almost palpable as he continued, "It was Aurelius' own stupidity that got him killed, not his involvement with us. The General made the mistake of speaking too strongly to Caesar in the royal court, and the Emperor took insult. I assure you, the secrecy essential to our success remains very much intact."_

"_Then what is our next move?" the hooded woman asked. "Kill the Emperor?"_

"_No, you idiot!" the ringleader hissed. "Our full strength is not yet gathered! To move against Caesar now would be suicide! Before we remove the Emperor, we must first make sure that his line is ended…permanently."_

"_You mean Caesar's niece," someone to the leader's left nodded._

"_Exactly," the head traitor nodded. "We _must _eliminate Katrina Placidae before a clear heir to the throne is born. And then, when all the pieces are in place, we will topple the Emperor from his throne. There are far more of us in the Imperial government than he could possibly imagine, and our numbers grow stronger with each passing day. I have operatives at every level of the bureaucracy; soon enough, we will topple the Empire from within."_

"_But what of the Hand?" someone else asked. "He protects the girl."_

"_I know," the ringleader replied. "And I took the liberty of hiring some, shall we say, outside consultants."_

"_Mercenaries?" another scoffed. "We don't need help from their scum!_"

"_These are not just any ordinary bounty hunters," the conspirators' overlord replied. "They are the best of their breed…and the only ones who can bring down the Hand."_

_A collective gasp issued from the group. "You mean _them_?" a stunned traitor gasped._

"_I do," the lead plotter grinned evilly beneath his cowl, and with his eyes hidden he looked like a demented version of the Cheshire Cat. "The Six Fell Blades have entered our service…"_

A/N: I'm an evil person to leave you all hanging like that, aren't I? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! But don't worry, 'cause the next installment will be up sometime this week. ^^ Bu just who _are_ the Six Fell Blades? Who is this mysterious traitor? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^ And, on a more personal note, I want to let you all know with a heavy heart that school is gonna be getting hectic once more. *Cries* I _don't_ intend to let that seriously impede the progress of this story, but it is probably a safe guess to say that I might not be able to update two or three times a week as I have done many times before. But I'll be _damned _to the flames of howling Hell before I leave my readers in the lurch, and so you _all _have my word and promise of at _least _one update every week, probably on the weekends. Again, I sincerely apologize for this, and know that I intend to return to my normal updating schedule as soon as circumstances will allow. Rest assured, _this story __will __be completed. Quintillius Numerion Inque NEVER abandons his readers!_

And let me tell you, I have some _BIG _plans in store for it…

I am, and remain,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. By way of corollary, Quintillus and Numerion were both Roman Emperors. And yes, that WAS intentional (I actually looked at a list of Emperors before coming up with my penname. XD).


	5. Chapter 5

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 5: Enter the Six Fell Blades

The footsteps of Kurzan Vortigern echoed hollowly through the huge, drafty corridors of the Imperial Palace as he swiftly and with characteristic silence made his way through the labyrinthine network of passageways and halls. His expression utterly serious, his resolve never wavering, the young mutant single-mindedly went about accomplishing his latest mission.

But be not mistaken, this assignment had not come from Master. Rather, it was the Princess, Katrina Placidae, who had sent Kurzan on a relatively benign and harmless errand: that of fetching medicine from the palace healer, Sargeras.

Though the cause of Katrina's discomfort remained unknown, this did not change the fact that the Princess had come down with a sudden and quite painful headache. Kurzan's charge had nearly collapsed like a discarded toy just minutes ago, and it was possible that Katrina would have broken something in her fall had not the assassin not caught her in his arms, bridal-style.

Kurzan frowned at the still-fresh memory of how Katrina's face had turned a sudden and violent shade of red when the fog of disorientation left her, and he puzzled still more at how she had let out a startled, muted squeak when he'd picked the Princess up. What was so unusual about that? Had not Master ordered Kurzan to prevent any harm from coming to Katrina? Catching her had seemed like the practical thing to do, so why did everyone aside from himself seem to make such a big deal about it?

And yet…

Kurzan's steady pace faltered for just a moment, his dead, golden gaze flickering with uncertainty. _She seemed so…soft…_

His fingers suddenly remembered how smooth and warm Katrina's skin had felt, and something, a feeling he'd not for years, made Kurzan's stomach tighten.

It took him a moment to identify that feeling as fear.

Kurzan scowled, gritting his teeth. It had been so long since anything or anyone had ignited a flicker of dread in his heart, and yet Katrina was able to elicit this response from him _twice _in as many days! He was not supposed to be so easily intimidated! He was Kurzan Vortigern, the Emperor's Hand and the Sword of Caesar! He could face countless odds and emerge victorious, master any weapon and kill without leaving a trace, and yet a _woman _made him feel fear?

Something akin to sadness crossed the young mutant's misshapen features as he entered Sargeras' work chambers. _How is this possible?_

The large, cavernous, dungeon-like room where the palace healer and resident wizard plied his trade was always easy to locate: one could smell the pungent, sulfurous fumes of herbs and potions that Sargeras was forever preparing. Though the old man was adept at the use of medicinal plants to cure a variety of illness, Kurzan doubted the legitimacy of Sargeras' "magic powers." Many of Master's courtiers and advisors would swear that they'd seen the so-called sorcerer work wonders with naught but his own hands, but the assassin was never one to believe in such eldritch things.

Kurzan resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose as he strode into the foul-smelling laboratory without bothering knock. A wizened, elderly-looking fellow could be seen curled over a monstrous, boiling cauldron, and Sargeras (for it could only be he) spoke without turning around in a kindly, quavering voice.

"I was starting to wonder if you were running late, my friend."

"What are you going on about?" Kurzan growled.

"I knew you'd come," Sargeras turned slowly to meet the assassin face-to-face. The wizard looked more like somebody's grandfather than a full-fledged mage. His eyes were crinkled with laugh lines and crow's feet, and his mouth was permanently turned upward in a gentle smile. When he spoke, Sargeras' educated and quiet voice brought to mind a dusty library filled with books. "It's the girl, correct? I think she's probably feeling a little under the weather right about now."

"And you know this _how_, exactly?" the assassin made no effort to conceal the accusation in his tone.

"I have foreseen it," Sargeras replied cryptically. "As foresee many other things that can or will come to pass."

"Save it," Kurzan replied short-temperedly. "Do you have something for my lady's headache or not?"

"Here," Sargeras promptly pressed a small glass vial of bluish-green herbs, ground to a fine dust, into the mutant's furry hand. "A pinch of motherwort and coltsfoot should relieve your charge's ailment. I would also suggest a turn about the courtyard once the Princess has received her dosage. Fresh air, I find, works wonders for a multitude of ills."

"I will see to it," Kurzan assured him, swallowing a tiny amount of the remedy himself.

"What are you doing?" Sargeras arched an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"I am making sure that this is not poison," the assassin spoke as if this were obvious. "I was ordered not to let Katrina eat or drink anything unless it has been tasted first."

"And you think I might be trying to kill an innocent woman, is that it?" Sargeras scowled. "You see enemies where there are none to be found, Kurzan Vortigern."

Ignoring the wizard's jibe and apparently convinced of the herbs' harmlessness, The Emperor's Hand pocketed the strong-smelling medicine and left without so much as a backward glance.

Sargeras frowned after him. "What a thoroughly unpleasant fellow," he said offhandedly to the bleached human skull that sat on a nearby shelf. "Now, where did I put the powdered rhinoceros horn…?"

_Meanwhile…_

Katrina groaned softly as Kurzan entered her lavish living quarters like a menacing shadow, and the crack of golden light that greeted his entry served to exacerbate the pain in her throbbing head. The Princess covered her eyes as lances of agony shot through her skull, and Kurzan hastened to shut the door behind him. Though he looked like the Angel of Death himself, hooded and cloaked in the sparse light provided by the covered windows, the sight of Kurzan was strangely comforting more than anything else.

It was with a look of utter professionalism that Kurzan set the tiny glass jar of blended herbs within arm's reach of the beleaguered princess. "Don't take too much at once, my lady," he warned her, careful to keep his tone humble. "Else you could make yourself ill."

Katrina nodded and, after a moment of gathering her courage, scooped a tiny amount of Sargeras' powder onto the tip of one finger and placed it upon her tongue.

The young woman's reaction was instantaneous, for whatever it was that the magician had prescribed for her, it tasted absolutely _foul. _Katrina's throat burned with the taste of vinegar, garlic and bile, and she gave a muted squeak before searching desperately for something to wash the nastiness away. The princess was so overcome with revulsion that she could not even speak, but Kurzan was never one for idle speech. He instantly deduced what was happening, and the mutant removed a small, silver container plugged with a wooden cork before offering it to the hapless Katrina. The flask's contents _swished _softly as he did so, and the Emperor's niece needed no second bidding to rip the stopper out and take a mighty swig.

Katrina sagged audibly with relief as the sweet, dark wine that Kurzan favored banished the horrid taste from her mouth and esophagus, and she wiped her chin on the back of her hand before handing the now-empty container back to him.

"Thank you, Kurzan," the princess said simply.

"It is but nothing, my lady," the mutant replied, turning his eyes away once more, as if ashamed. "If you feel well enough to walk, Sargeras said that the night air would be beneficial as well. If it pleases you, my lady," he added.

"As a matter of fact, I'm feeling much better already," Katrina told him cheerfully. "That medicine was the most repulsive substance I have ever had the misfortune of tasting, but I must admit that it was quite effective."

"I did not think it so bad," Kurzan said, his monotone reasserting itself while his words became somewhat hushed. "But if I had known it would cause you such discomfort, I would have brought you something else. Forgive me, my lady."

"You _tasted _it?" Katrina stared. "What on Earth for?"

"I had to ensure that the medicine was what Sargeras claimed it to be," Kurzan shrugged. "Someone could have tampered with it, and if the remedy had been poisoned, your life could have been at risk."

"And what if it _had _been poisoned?" Katrina remembered the vials that he had offered her on the night she'd arrived in Rome. "You would have _died_!"

Kurzan looked puzzled. "So?"

"Does that not bother you?" the princess stared, her voice shaking as the two emerged into the picturesque scenery of the Royal Gardens.

The assassin was silent for just a moment, and his hood concealed whatever emotion his hidden face might have conveyed. Amidst the thick walls of carefully trimmed shrubbery, roses the color of freshly spilled blood bloomed in numbers beyond counting, their soft, velvety blooms falling gently to the ground in twos and threes while the air hung heavy with their sweet, cloying scent. The dirt underfoot was carpeted with a layer of petals from these crimson plants, and in the gentle whispers of wind they danced and swayed in a manner not unlike a miniature tornado.

All in all, it was quite a romantic place, but this fact was apparently lost on Kurzan as he broke the silence abruptly.

"It would be a necessary price," he said. "To forfeit my life in order to ensure the survival of my lady would be my duty…and my honor."

Though he could not possibly have known it at the time, Kurzan came very close to prophesying his own demise before the night was done.

It was a testament to the hidden archer's stealth that neither Katrina nor her bodyguard detected his presence right away. From a vantage point high up in a nearby tree, a thin-faced man with long, oily hair smoothly drew an arrow from his quiver and sighted expertly down the shaft, taking aim at the princess's exposed form as his bowstring tightened with strain.

Everything about this man was narrow and blade-like. His thin, hooked nose and quick, beady eyes gave him a naturally furtive air, and the dull, mottled green-and-brown garments he wore made him almost invisible against bark and leaf. His body was unnaturally thin, his arms and legs gangly, but the disproportion did nothing to hinder the assailant's inherent lethality.

After all, Veeku the Swift, the expert sniper and spy, did not become a member of the Six Fell Blades for nothing.

The villainous archer bared his rotten teeth in a grin, and his bow made a soft _twang _as he sent the deadly projectile straight at Katrina's heart.

And soft the sound may have been, but Kurzan heard it. His eyes widened with surprise and panic, and with blurring speed he blindsided the princess, shoving her to the ground-

_SSSSSSSSSSSTHUNK!_

Kurzan grunted in agony, stiffening as the barbed shaft seemed to sprout from his chest, and, ignoring Katrina's horrified scream, his fists suddenly bristled with a variety of lethal-looking throwing knives. The scalpel-edged metal sang a deadly song as Katrina's protector threw a volley of iron death in the direction from which the arrow had come. The gleaming steel vanished into the foliage-

-And Veeku bit his lip against a scream as a thin, dagger-like throwing star found its mark in his lower leg. Forsaking stealth, he leaped awkwardly onto the ivy-covered walls and was moving again before his feet had even touched the stone parapets. There was no point in hanging around anymore, and so like ashes on a windy day, Veeku the Swift vanished into the darkness and shadow.

The Fell Blade's work here was done.

Kurzan promptly yanked the arrow from his flesh, ignoring the spurt of blood that emanated from his injured torso. The metal of his armor was stained and splattered with crimson, and the mutant gave a short, spasmodic jerk as he felt his strength begin to slowly seep away. Kurzan's vision swam, and he gasped in agony before trying to stagger upright. A ribbon of red seeped from the corner of his lips, and the assassin swayed almost drunkenly while his arms sagged with some unknown wait.

Daggers of pain arced across young man's body, and he knew at once that the arrow had found its mark. Deep into his chest the shaft had bore like a monstrous drill, and the pall of death began to settle slowly about the shoulders of Kurzan Vortigern.

For all his mastery of arms and armament, the assassin was not indestructible.

Despair made his innards sink. _I…I have…failed, _Kurzan thought despondently. _I should have…seen it coming…_

Rebellious tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he slowly fell like a toppled tree, collapsing to his knees before toppling onto his side. _Master…my lady…forgive me …_

Katrina, breathless with horror, rushed to the fallen Kurzan's aid in an attempt to help him regain his footing, but he pushed her roughly away. "Get out of…here! Not…safe…" the assassin slurred, gesturing toward the palace.

Katrina turned automatically to where Kurzan had pointed-

-Only to find that the way to sanctuary was barred by a dozen men garbed black robes and wielding glittering spears, obviously Veeku's lackeys, who had seemingly come from nowhere. Katrina sobbed, breathless with horror, and she tried to run, only to trip and stumble clumsily over the hem of her dress.

Blackness began to creep into the corners of Kurzan's vision, and his golden eyes widened at the pure terror that flashed in Katrina's fair face. Anger, fury, and simple stubbornness made the blood boil in Kurzan's veins, and even as his sight began to grow foggy, he staggered almost drunkenly to his feet. The assassin swayed like a young tree in a strong wind, and Kurzan's blackened swords rasped slowly from their sheaths before he brought the ebon steel to bear.

Every fiber of Kurzan's entire being was consumed with the urge to complete his last and final mission. The very beating of his failing heart was now dedicated to this single task, and Kurzan would fulfill it even if doing so stole the last breath of his young life away.

Valiantly, defiantly, Kurzan Vortigern stood his ground in the face of doom, his labored breathing rasping in time with the mantra that flashed through his mind. It was the same mantra that had been the subject of rote memorization for almost four years now.

_I do not know pain..._

_I do not know fear…_

_I do not flag or fail…_

_I am Kurzan Vortigern, the Hand of the Emperor!_

Another wave of pain made the young man's chest constrict, and flecks of red spotted his lips before the assembled enemy charged en masse, their spear blades leveled and glittering with almost palpable malevolence.

_And if I am to leave this world tonight, I'll be having some company_, Kurzan added, baring his fangs in a feral, wolfish grin and assuming a fighting stance whilst the edges of his twin swords rang hollowly. His wrists rotated the blackened metal faster and faster until they shrieked a high-pitched keen like that of a banshee or some other monster of myth and legend.

A rock before the rushing tide, the faithful Kurzan faced the oncoming foe.

_I will…I _must…_protect…Katrina…_

A/N: Brutal cliffie, I know! XD But before I go any further, I want to apologize to ALL of you for making you wait so long for this update. I know I mentioned that school was starting to get really busy at the end of Chapter Four, but nevertheless I still feel rather guilty for making everyone wait so long. I give you not only this apology, but also my thanks for your patience and understanding. Rest assured that I will update once more as soon as time allows. But what will happen to our two heroes? Will Kurzan survive his wound? Or will he live just long enough to see Katrina die? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. In case any of you are DP fans, I read this one fic some time ago that I really liked, but I cannot for the LIFE of me remember what it's called. From what I _can _remember, I think it involves Vlad Plasmius attacking Danny at school and phases him through a wall, thereby putting Danny's secret in serious jeopardy. A special _sneak peek_ at my next story shall go to the person who can answer this inquiry. ^^


	6. Chapter 6

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 6: The Black Legion

Kurzan resisted the natural urge to clap a furry hand to the oozing wound in his lower abdomen, to double over in an attempt to alleviate the pain that emanated from the hole where Veeku the Swift's arrow had found its mark. Kurzan's grey cloak, dirtied and ragged, furled gently about his ankles in the soft wind that gently mussed the dark, navy blue mop on his head, and the golden eyes that burned with an almost unsettling light were narrowed in determination even as they began to cloud over with a foggy glaze.

Even with the Angel of Death at his very heels, even as its rusty, whistling scythe descended to snatch his short life away, Kurzan Vortigern was never one to cower in fear.

Anger poured off Kurzan's body like heat from the furnaces of howling Hell, and he vowed to make these masked men, these _traitors, _pay in blood for _daring _to endanger Katrina's life. Not a trace of fright or hesitation did Kurzan feel as the foe charged him en masse, and his usual face of stone was replaced with a miniscule grin as he prepared for what seemed to be his final stand. Twelve to Kurzan's one, the enemy took the fight to the weakened assassin.

The odds were extraordinarily unfair.

Unfair for Kurzan's opponents, that is.

The fight was joined with almost anticlimactic silence, and Kurzan twisted to one side to avoid being eviscerated, stabbing his foe with a quick, lethal strike to the kidney as his momentum carried him by. The slain enemy promptly collapsed, and Kurzan brought his swords up in an X-shape over his head just in time to block a downward thrust. With eye-blurring speed, the assassin darted inside his opponent's guard to follow up with a devastating elbow jab to the face, and the blow broke the man's nose so thoroughly that shards of bone splinters stabbed into his brain with instant lethality. The unfortunate attacker collapsed as a long gout of crimson spouted from his ruined nostrils, and Kurzan took that moment to salvage his slain enemy's fallen armament. His prehensile, spaded tail lashed out like some kind of venomous serpent, coiling around the spear's wooden shaft and holding it aloft before hurling the weapon with frightening precision. The projectile took yet another onrushing enemy straight through the neck, and the stunned attacker could only mutter a wet, muted gurgle before toppling into the blood-stained grass. Gasping wetly, his damaged lungs starving for air, Kurzan abruptly ducked low to the ground and knocked a fourth enemy's legs right out from under him with a sweeping, semicircular kick. The masked assailant cried out in surprise as he fell, but his astonishment was cut off abruptly as the gore-slickened blades of Kurzan broke his fall, impaling him through the back and out the chest. The loyal assassin freed his weapons with a quick, jerking wrench, and he turned to see a glittering, leaf-shaped blade plunging toward his heart-

-But Kurzan was not one to let himself become perturbed. With all the lethal grace of a jungle cat, he launched himself into the air with a swift somersault, twisting his body around and around so as to make his twin swords rotate like the arms of some great windmill, his body momentarily lost against the darkness of the night sky in the process. Like a tornado of scything steel Kurzan made landfall among the amassed enemy with devastating effect, cleaving a man's face open and slashing the throat of another before severing a third's hand and stabbing him with his own weapon even as the amputated wrist still clutched its bloody, varnished haft.

Seven down, five to go.

The sudden stress on Kurzan's injured body made his vision momentarily turn red with agony, and he stiffened for just a moment as his wounded chest heaved.

Razor-sharp steel suddenly embedded itself in Kurzan's bicep, and he grunted in anguish before yanking the pole-arm out of his flesh and plunging a blackened blade through the man's jaw so hard that the sword's tip emerged from the black felt of his hood. Snarling like a wounded beast and just as dangerous, Kurzan landed a punishing, flat-palmed strike in the solar-plexus of his next opponent, and the villain doubled over before Kurzan carved a deep slash across the length of his chest. The keening whine of Kurzan's dual swords sprayed the air with a crimson mist as he carved up men as a butcher cuts beef, and he turned with unholy, almost unnatural grace as he carved open the carotid artery with a practiced blow. Katrina watched the carnage with morbid fascination as she beheld Kurzan Vortigern in all his blood-drenched glory, his swords and armor stained with the blood of the fallen as he cut men down to the rhythm of the dance of death. Bodies lay strewn beneath roses whose scarlet color was deepened with crimson gore.

A wordless cry of horror escaped the lips of the last attacker who yet remained standing, and his weapon fell from nervous fingers as he turned and attempted to flee to safety.

But there was no place within the Empire's vast dominion to hide those who had earned the undying, burning wrath of the Hand of the Emperor. There was no mercy, no pity to be found in Kurzan's hardened gaze that evening.

It was but the work of a practiced moment for Kurzan to aim down the edge of the sword in his right hand. The assassin held the pitch-colored blade parallel to the ground in a steady grip, and with a mighty throw he sent the razor-edged brunt of his fury singing through the night at such a speed that the metal cleaved the air as it hissed along its way.

_WHIZZZZZZZSHKLUK!_

The assailant toppled over into the grass, slain instantly as the blackened sword took him from in between the shoulder blades.

Kurzan did not have the energy to retrieve it.

_Thunk._

The remaining sword that was still clutched in a double-handed grip thudded point-first into the blood-soaked earth as swirling, fallen petals danced in the softly whispering wind, and Kurzan sank slowly to his knees as his mottled grey cloak pooled around him like liquid silver. The golden eyes that shone from within the black void of his hood met Katrina's brown ones for just a brief instant, and a harsh, rattled breath escaped Kurzan's lips as he slumped forward.

Fear and grief contorted Katrina's beautiful face into a mask of anguish, and her heart lurched at the sight of how this young man had seemingly gone to his doom without a second thought.

_It can't be, _she thought, her eyes blurring with tears. _Kurzan…dead? NO!_

Determination replaced helplessness as the sun's rays send thunderclouds fleeing, and Katrina vowed, then and there, that her protector-no, her _friend_-would not meet his doom this day.

The princess promptly placed two fingers in her mouth, a shrill whistle summoned a squadron of elite soldiers of the Praetorian Guard to her side within a matter of seconds.

"What is your bidding, milady?" one of the soldiersasked, glancing, stunned, at the prone form of Kurzan.

"Get him inside," Katrina ordered him, her normally sweet nature overtaken by urgency. "And send for Sargeras the Healer!"

"At once, milady," the trooper replied, gesturing for his comrades to help him bear the wounded assassin indoors. Stolidly obedient, the men of the Guard hoisted Kurzan aloft by his arms and legs before rushing him into the palace.

Some distance away, Veeku the Swift cursed softly and violently under his breath…

_The Royal Infirmary, shortly thereafter…_

The elderly Sageras rose in alarm as Katrina and her servants bore the bloodied, ravaged form of Kurzan Vortigern into the palace sickbay. The old man's face went white, seemingly from shock at the gruesome nature of the assassin's wounds, and his wrinkled eyes narrowed in thought while scurried about for the metal tools and herbal extracts that were the tools of his trade.

"Might my lady permit me to ask what happened?" Sargeras inquired.

"He took an attacker's arrow that was meant for me," Katrina replied, pointing to the wet hole in Kurzan's chest. "And then he suffered even greater hurts fighting off a dozen more."

"That boy will dig his own grave one day, mark my words," Sargeras replied, his tone worried as he addressed the milling soldiers. "Don't just stand there, you _fools!_ I need a stitching needle and thread, _now!_ You, there!" he barked, addressing a soldier who stiffened in surprise as the old one barked out orders with the surprising air of one used to giving them. "Fetch me hot water and clean linen for bandages, and get a vial smelling salts down from the shelf on your way out! You, you, and you! Get me a hot iron from the fireplace, and hold him down in case he starts struggling! If the arrowhead is still embedded in his flesh, it needs to be extracted _immediately_ before the wound can be cauterized! _Move!"_

Startled by the old healer's vehemence, the stalwart, battle-hardened Praetorians jumped like frogs to go about Sargeras's bidding, and Katrina watched with morbid fascination as he snatched a tiny glass of strong-smelling, crushed plants from one of his new lackeys and gently waved it under Kurzan's nose. The assassin promptly let out a sigh and sagged, every part of his body going limp as the mixture knocked him out like a light.

"The herbs act as anesthesia," Sargeras explained, answering Katrina's unspoken question as he looked almost contemplatively at the evil-looking pair of ridiculously oversized tweezers he clutched in his bony fingers. "After all, we don't want him to feel _this_, do we?"

The healer gave the curved pliers an experimental squeeze, and Katrina had to look away as Sargeras plunged the metal apparatus into the epicenter of the ragged hole that Veeku's shaft had torn in Kurzan's flesh. Fresh blood welled up from within Kurzan's beaten body, and it was so bad that every couple of moments Sargeras had to take a minute to mop up the gore before continuing his ministrations. The old man worked with the speed and precision of one well-versed in his chosen craft, and though she could not bear to see what was happening to Kurzan, Katrina could clearly hear the old one muttering to himself as he worked.

"I _know _it's got to be in here somewhere," Sargeras mumbled under his breath, digging around in the ravaged tissue for the barbed arrowhead that lay embedded therein. But then the old man's face turned grave, and he clucked his tongue disapprovingly as the extent of Kurzan's injuries became clear. "Uh, oh…this is not looking favorable at all…"

"_What?"_ Katrina made no effort to conceal her horror.

"From what I can tell, the shot has fractured several of our young friend's ribs, one of which has nicked the apex of his heart," Sargeras spoke as if this were obvious. "It's a relatively small area that comprises the human heart's bluntly pointed lower end, but nevertheless it bleeds like _stink _if it's hit; you might as well shoot someone in the jugular vein or the femoral artery. To be honest, I'm surprised he has not yet died from blood loss alone. Even if I can extract the arrowhead, and even if his body doesn't give out from the trauma of the operation (which is unlikely, by the way), Kurzan's chances of survival, at best, are slim. I will do what I can for him, but I would advise you to prepare yourself for the worst, milady. I fear you would only be fooling yourself to trust to hope."

"There is always hope," Katrina murmured.

Sargeras seemed to notice her for the first time. "I can't work with you looking over my shoulder like this," he snapped. "I require peace and privacy if I am to treat him to the best of my abilities! Take your lackeys,"-here, he gestured toward the Praetorians-"and leave me to my work! I'll come find you when my task is done!"

"Of course," Katrina nodded, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the anxiety that had already begun to settle about her shoulders with an unnatural heaviness. "I…I will be in my chambers."

"Get some sleep," Sargeras advised her as she made to leave. "You're exhausted."

_How can I rest when Kurzan's life hangs by a thread?_ Katrina wondered bewilderedly. _How can I sleep when he could be gone before sunrise?_

_I will not be able to take my ease until I know that he still lives…_

_Much later…_

At times, _not knowing _can be the greatest torment of all.

Anyone who has ever had a friend or family member in critical medical condition knows that the long wait for news either ill or fortunate can be almost unbearable. The passage of time seems to slow to a crawl: minutes begin to creep by at a snail's pace, hours seem to elongate into entire days, and every passing second only adds to the nauseating anxiety that roils in one's stomach like a frothing cauldron. Worry clutches one's heart in a cold, remorseless fist, and in the depths of such nervousness and heartache, it is not uncommon for one to unintentionally work himself into a panic when visions of the worst possible outcome begin to flash in his mind's eye like some grotesque parade. He who waits begins to fidget, to grow ever more restless, his hands clammy with cold sweat and his eyes darting from like billiard balls in their sockets, continually seeking yet never finding a diversion to distract his aching soul. Einstein's theory holds true, for time seems to be very relative indeed in such situations.

So it was with Katrina.

She did not know, nor did she really care, how many interminable hours had passed since Sargeras had brusquely ushered her out of his workroom. The princess's eyelids became leaden and heavy as the hour grew ever later, and it was only with Herculean effort that Katrina was able to remain awake long into the early hours of the morning. The sand-filled hourglass that lay close at hand had long since emptied its upper chamber, but she had long given up turning it. The princess could not help but think that the slowly draining sediment might be mirroring what little time Kurzan had left.

Katrina was almost unwilling to believe that he could die so easily. Surely Kurzan, a fighter of extraordinary ability, would not meet his end by a mere arrow! The idea seemed almost…sad, for lack of a better word.

The princess's head was just beginning to sag, and her eyes were just starting to close in spite of her will to stay awake when an equally haggard-looking Sargeras emerged from his workroom.

Katrina, instantly alert, snapped back to reality and fixed the healer with a wordless, inquiring gaze. But for all its lack of verbal and vocal expression, the question in the young woman's brown eyes could not have been made clearer.

Sargeras sighed, wiping his bloody hands on an even bloodier towel before mopping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "My lady…_he lives._"

"What?" Katrina whispered, almost unwilling to believe the news she'd so desperately hoped for.

"I can hardly make sense of it myself, milady," the old man admitted. "To be honest, I've seen men die from lesser wounds than those Kurzan has suffered this night. And yet, even with the cards stacked against him, so to speak, our young friend simply refuses to die! The odds of his surviving the procedure were absolutely…_astronomical!_ By rights he should have breathed his last hours ago!"

"Then why hasn't he?"

"The desire to survive, when strong enough, can on rare occasion enable one to overcome such massive trauma," Sargeras shrugged. "It is my professional opinion that it was through the strength of his will to live and nothing else that pulled Kurzan back from the brink of the abyss tonight. But now I daresay he should be able to see the dawn as long as I keep him unconscious; if he wakes, he could break the stitches and reopen his wound. Oh, he'll be in great pain when he _does _wake up, make no mistake about that," the healer added, "but now that he's pulled through this critical stage, he _should _recover with enough bed rest and medication. I'll put him on a liquid diet, too; Kurzan won't be strong enough to eat solid food for a while yet. And no, you cannot see him just yet; the physical distress your presence could cause him might be enough to finish him off. Go to bed, milady. He'll be here when you awaken in the morn, mark my words."

Katrina almost sagged with relief. "Thank you, Sargeras," she said simply, her weary eyes already anticipating the soft embrace of her silken pillow.

Sargeras smiled at her. "Oh, it was nothing, my lady. Absolutely nothing…at all…"

_Epilogue_

_An undisclosed location_

_The Council of Nine, the traitors who made up the leadership of the insidious organization that had contracted the services of the Six Fell Blades, stood in a silent, foreboding semicircle of wide-sleeved, black robes that denoted their ominous intent. Behind them, a solitary banner hung from the decrepit rafters of the abandoned structure that served as a temporary base of operations, and its black expanse was emblazoned with a mailed fist clutching a fiery sword._

_Such was the symbol of the Black Legion, whose goal was nothing less than the hostile takeover of the entire Roman dominion._

_Now the Council, those who made up the highest level of the Legion's command structure, conversed quietly at the disturbing news that had reached their ears._

"_The Blades have failed us," one hissed. "The Hand is still alive, as is the princess!"_

"_And now the Emperor will begin sticking his nose where it does not belong," another added._

"_We hired you and your companions for your fabled skills!" still a third directed a scathing comment toward the silhouette of a man whose his face was shadowed by the solitary ray of moonlight in which he stood. "We do not tolerate failure! You promised us that Veeku's arrow would find its mark, and yet the Hand is still among the living!"_

"_On the contrary, my friend," the shadow man, presumably the leader of the Fell Blades, replied with a smile in his voice. "Veeku completed his task to the letter. The Hand may have survived…but not for long."_

"_What are you getting at? Speak quickly!"_

"_The Emperor's dog is alive, but he is very weak," here, the leader of the Council of Nine interrupted his subordinate. "He lays critically injured, and is in no shape to fight. That leaves both the Hand and the princess vulnerable to a follow-up strike, if we move swiftly."_

_The Fell Blade's commander nodded. "And it just so happens that one of my compatriots is perfectly suited for tasks of a more…delicate nature. Tala the Sly will see to it that neither the Hand nor his charge will leave the palace with breath still in their bodies. She has never failed me before."_

"_She?" one of the Nine asked, incredulous. "A woman is hardly fitting for such a profession!"_

"_If Tala were here, she would kill you for saying that," the mysterious villain replied. "Do not be deceived, my friends, for she is far more lethal than any of you give her credit for…"_

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUN! Well, THAT doesn't look good, does it? Who _is _the Fell Blade known as Tala the Sly? Will she succeed in her nefarious mission? And will Kurzan recover in time to save Katrina? Find out in coming chapters! And as always, PLEASE review! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

I do have two announcements of a more personal nature, though, before I sign off. First, it pains me to tell you all that the next update probably won't be posted until next weekend; I've got TWO tests to study for this coming week, and thus my time will be severely limited. But never fear, my friends, for as we are all well aware, good things come to those who wait! ;) And secondly, I must say that I was stunned at a review I recently received for "El Diablo del Oeste," for it seems a user named "MadHatter0013" actually _wrote a song_called "Cowboy's Lullaby" that is loosely based upon that story, and he was even kind enough to provide me with a link to his channel so I could listen to it! Of course, I was extremely humbled and moved by this, and I am pleased to say that I found the song (a guitar solo) to be utterly delightful and enjoyable to listen to. ^^ Thus, I send this thankful shout-out to MadHatter, and I urge you all to listen to his wonderful music at your earliest possible convenience! Again, the song is called "Cowboy's Lullaby," and you can find it on Youtube, under the username "drummercatD1."

(Seriously, it's WICKED COOL. ^^)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	7. Chapter 7

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter Seven: Hints of Kurzan's Hidden Past

The world was unfocused, fuzzy and warm as consciousness slowly and painfully returned to Kurzan Vortigern's battle-scarred body. The assassin who just hours before had been stronger than any other man alive now lay covered in a cocoon of cotton bed-sheets, as vulnerable as a newborn kitten in his current wretched state.

Kurzan opened his eyes blearily, and his vision was foggy and clouded with the fog of disorientation and dizziness. The room seemed to spin like a carnival ride before the assassin's equilibrium re-established itself, and a soft, muted groan escaped from between Kurzan's lips as the fingers on his left hand began to twitch.

If Kurzan's tongue had not been as dry as a baked sandal, he would have cursed with a ferocity and forcefulness that would have made even the most hardened sailor blush.

Kursan's chest throbbed with a steady, agonizing beat that sent volleys of agonizing barbs shooting through his veins, and the rough-textured bandages that were now stained with oxidized blood itched with startling intensity. The threaded stitches that the healer Sargeras had used to close the hole in Kurzan's chest both restricted his breathing and made any attempt at respiration extremely painful. A harsh, rasping croak issued forth from behind the assassin's elongated fangs as his chest continued to rise and fall beneath the bedding, and all the while Kurzan quietly seethed with vitriolic anger that exacerbated the sting of his wounded pride.

The fact that not one, but _two _of Kurzan's foes had been able to rend his flesh left the assassin with smoldering anger. It had been so long since _anyone _bearing arms had even been able to come within six feet of him that Kurzan felt almost ashamed of himself for being so careless, especially around the princess. He should have been able to sniff out the sniper long before the arrow had left its bowstring, should have been able to sense the spear-wielding attackers that lay hidden within the blooming roses.

And yet, for all of his legendary mastery of weapons, Kurzan Vortigern had been played for a fool. Like a green recruit fresh out of basic training, he'd let his guard down and allowed his focus to shift.

And the princess had very nearly paid the price for it.

Kurzan felt as though he were going to vomit. Though Katrina had survived, and though he had dispatched the men sent to kill her quickly and efficiently, the assassin cut himself no slack, and was harder on himself than anyone else would have been in the same situation. Though he was only human and therefore bound to make mistakes at times, the dutiful Kurzan allowed his tired body neither consolation nor comfort from the perceived gravity of his error.

Though Kurzan loathed himself for the momentary lack of vigilance, some tiny, nagging part of him knew that it was Katrina herself who had drawn Kurzan's attention, however temporarily, from his primary duties. The way her hair had swirled in the gentle breeze, the way her skin had glowed with almost ethereal luminescence beneath the rays of pale moonlight, and the way she'd smiled…

He shuddered. Seeing her like that had made Kurzan feel something he'd never felt before, a sort of nervous, tingling excitement that seemed to draw his golden eyes to her with the force of some monstrous magnet. The more she was around him, the stronger these confusing emotions became, and Kurzan found it ever more difficult to remain professional in carrying out Master's commands.

And though he would never admit it to any who still drew breath, these feelings were so utterly alien and foreign to Kurzan that they…they…

The assassin closed his eyes briefly as the realization sank in.

These feelings _frightened_ him.

It should be remembered once more that Kurzan feared no living thing. He did not fear the ravenous beasts he'd fought in the Coliseum, amidst the deafening roars of the excited crowds. He did not fear sword nor dagger, nor did he fear any man who wielded them. In his life thus far, Kurzan had slain and killed more enemies than he had hairs on his body: men of all nations fell slain before him, for none could match the Emperor's Hand.

And yet Katrina, a woman of such gentility and kindness that she seemed almost otherworldly to Kurzan's hardened gaze, could with the smallest of gestures make him feel unsure and give him cause to doubt himself without even knowing it.

Uncertainty began to gnaw at Kurzan's gut like a ravenous animal. For so long he'd been sure of who he was, of what his _purpose_ in life was meant to be.

He was the Hand of Caesar. He served the Emperor.

It was quite simple, really.

Wasn't it?

Kurzan scowled. _How can this be happening?_

He abruptly shoved any such thoughts into the back of his mind. There would be time for doubt and self-conflict later, for the sudden attack in the rose garden had rattled Kurzan's proverbial cage.

The mutant now knew that whoever had orchestrated the attack was _not_ to be underestimated. Kurzan was the mightiest warrior in all the land, but no so invincible that he was above caution. If anything, the surprise assault had reminded Kurzan that he was not invulnerable, and that growing overconfident carried a high price. The entire operation had been perfectly executed: the archer had been dead-on in his aim, and whoever he had been, he'd _known _that his arrow would find its mark no matter who it hit. It was planned to be a "lose-lose" situation: if the arrow had found its mark in Katrina, then the sniper and his lackeys likely would have vanished before Kurzan had known what was happening. And if the shaft had hit Kurzan, then the enemy would send soldiers to finish him off before dispatching Katrina as well. It was a hit of professional-grade quality and cunning, and the only reason that the nefarious operation had gone awry was that Kurzan had remained strong enough to slay his attackers _before _collapsing. It was, by and large, due more to a spell of extraordinarily good fortune rather than any skill of Kurzan's that he and Katrina and had survived the encounter.

The assassin would have sighed, if the action would not have been so painful. He suspected that there was more to this nefarious picture, a foreboding cloud of ominous intent that settled on his aching shoulders with almost tangible weight.

_Creeeak._

Kurzan became instantly alert as his keen ears picked up the soft groaning of the sickbay entrance, automatically assuming that the foe was upon him. Though bedridden, his fingers scrabbled for the blackened blades that lay on the bedside table, and the blunt, square-shaped digits clutched their hilts tightly-

-Only to relax as rapidly as a deflating balloon as a very anxious-looking Katrina Placidae quietly shut the door behind her. The princess looked haggard, as if she'd hardly slept at all, and her beautiful face was crinkled with worry as she approached the foot of the bed.

"I was worried you would not survive the night," she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind one ear and averting her eyes from his. "But I am…_glad_ to see that I was wrong."

Kurzan thought he'd never seen anyone make such an everyday action look so _cute._ "You honor me with your concern, my lady," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I am…also glad to see that you are well."

"I owe you my life," the princess's gaze became somewhat uncomfortable. "Thank you, Kurzan."

"I was only carrying out orders, Princess," he replied, oblivious to Katrina's praise. "Master ordered me to protect you, no matter what the cost."

Katrina was stunned. "You were willing to _die_…just to protect me?" she whispered.

"I still am."

The sheer _awkwardness _that pervaded the room following this later utterance was so thick that it could have been used as mortar for brick-laying, and an uncomfortable silence brought the conversation to a standstill before Katrina tried to change the subject.

"How is your wound?"

Kurzan's expressionless mask rippled for a moment. "Sargeras, though I cannot abide him, has knowledge of medicine that is without peer, my lady."

Her eyes danced with amusement. "In other words, it hurts," Katrina stated.

"Very much so, my lady," the assassin admitted.

"Katrina," the princess replied promptly.

"Beg pardon, milady?"

"Call me 'Katrina,'" she told him, hesitating for a moment before sitting down at Kurzan's bedside. "I…I don't like it when people talk so formally to me all the time."

"But my lady, it is not proper for a servant to-"

Kurzan's protestations were cut off as the young woman gave a small, gentle smile and cupped his blue cheek in her hand, turning Kurzan's head so she could look him in the eye. The princess wanted him to see the sincerity with which she spoke in those soft, brown pools. "Say it," Katrina told him.

"But-"

"Say it," the young woman told him, her voice a bit stronger.

"My lady-"

"Say. It."

Those deep brown eyes met his golden ones, and Kurzan felt his normally iron-shod resolve melt like butter in the microwave. Katrina seemed to outshine the sun with her beauty as the golden rays of the dawn created an angelic-looking halo around her fair head, and the young mutant's voice was hoarse with disuse and very quiet whilst a deep blush deepened the navy-color of his cheeks. Kurzan's heart began to go into overdrive, its beat thundering in his ears as the blood turned to fire in his veins, and his breathing became rapid, hoarse and shallow.

His tone was raw and unrefined as Kurzan gazed back at her, and slowly, so slowly, he uttered the princess's name like a magic spell.

"Ka…tri…na…"

Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment ended. She stood again, a somewhat nervous expression on her lovely face as her cheeks turned the color of a ripe pomegranate. "Was that so hard?"

"No." Kurzan couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

"Be well," Katrina added, moving toward the door. "Do not strain yourself too much, okay?"

The hinges groaned as the princess left, and the room's injured occupant sagged wearily into the cushions.

Kurzan closed his eyes. Perhaps sleep would offer him a temporary escape from the confusion that Katrina had spawned within him…

_Meanwhile, outside the entrance to the Imperial Palace…_

The two stern-faced men of the elite Praetorian Guard tried to keep their expressions carefully neutral, the better to hide their surprise at the ravishingly beautiful woman who ascended the marble promenade. Clad in a simple homespun robe with generously wide sleeves that trailed behind her like the hem of a wedding gown, her figure was so flawless that it would make even the most skilled of sculptors envious. Her face was perfectly proportioned, her eyes a shade of crystalline blue, and the lips that bore the color of ripe raspberries peeled back to reveal a set of stunningly white teeth. She was beautiful, unnaturally so, but not in the gentle, sweet, and caring way of Katrina Placidae. The princess, it is worth noting, was lovely in the way a flower in spring is lovely.

_This _woman, however, was beautiful in the way that the Baroness from "G.I. Joe" is beautiful.

The stranger's confident, swift pace was halted momentarily as the two sentries barred the way inside with the long hafts of their _pilum _spears.

"State your name and business," the first guard told her flatly, his military training taking hold.

"My name is of no concern to you," the newcomer replied flatly, her voice cold and brooding. "And as for my business…"

Gleaming metal flashed in the mid-afternoon sun as two long, narrow, double-edged blades, fashioned and wielded in the style of the Japanese tonfa, suddenly protruded from within her sleeves. The surprised sentinel gave a dying gurgle as twelve inches of steel plunged into his belly, and a follow-up strike to the second Praetorian's neck carved open the jugular vein with clinical precision and unnerving speed.

"...My business is with the Princess and her pet ex-gladiator," Tala the Sly of the Six Fell Blades finished, stepping over the bodies as the white marble underfoot became stained with crimson…

_Minutes later…_

After a lifetime of fighting and combat, Kurzan Vortigern had developed what amounted to a sixth sense that warned him of impending danger. He could see a foe coming before anyone else even suspected foul play, and this ability had served him well in the years since coming into the Emperor's thrall.

Thankfully, this was one sense that did not dull with sleep or injury. A small, ominously familiar shiver ran down the mutant's spine, and Kurzan's eyes snapped open with sharp, clear focus as his arm flashed to his weapons-

-But Tala the Sly, standing almost contemplatively over the bedridden assassin, merely gave a small laugh and sent the twin sheaths skittering across the floor. Her cerulean eyes were flinty and hard as she gazed down at the prone Kurzan, but her tone was so casual that she might as well have been discussing the latest chariot race.

"Hello, Kurzan," she said. "It's been, what, at least four years?"

"Five," the mutant corrected her.

"Your luck seems to have taken a turn for the worse," Tala continued, caressing Kurzan's bandages and causing him to quiver in anguish. "Veeku has already given you his regards, I see. You should be honored; no one has ever survived a shot from the Swift One's bow before."

"Veeku?" Kurzan spoke the name with an air of familiarity. "Heard he was dead. And you as well, now that I think about it."

"I can assure you, _we _are very much alive," Tala spat. "Myself, Veeku, Brezin, and the rest of your old friends. We did not die in the Coliseum as we led you to believe; we escaped, which is more than you ever did on our behalf. _Where were you, Kurzan?_ When your wretched Emperor offered you freedom in his service, you _promised _us that you would speak to him on our behalf, so that _we _might be free as well! But you never came back for your _friends, _did you? You abandoned us to death in the arena! You did not keep your word to us, Kurzan, as _we _would have done for you!"

"I _did _talk to him about it," the assassin protested. "Master told me that he'd set you free!"

"Caesar has poisoned your mind," Tala snarled. "Your 'master' did nothing of the sort! _He sent his soldiers to kill us! _It was only by the grace of heaven that we escaped that day! How could you serve such a man, Kurzan? How could you pledge your loyalty to the Emperor, whose laws and edicts allow people like us to be sold to the fights for petty coin? How can you stand to carry out his dirty work, knowing that the Empire is built on the blood of those the Romans have conquered? If you'd had any sense, you would have joined us! The Fell Blades are now allied with men much more powerful than Caesar could ever hope to be, and very soon the Emperor's domain will crumble from underneath his throne!"

"I have taken my oath," Kurzan said quietly. "I am bound to it, Tala, even unto death, and I cannot go against it."

"Then you've chosen the wrong side," the villainess retorted. "And now you will pay for it with your miserable, traitorous life."

The mutant grinned sardonically. "Go ahead. Do you really think death frightens me? I've faced it more than enough times to be at peace with it."

"Your demise will not be so merciful, Tala whispered, bending over to hiss in Kurzan's ear. "You do not deserve it. I will cut you to pieces where you lay, slicing your flesh bit by bit, and the last thought you ever have will be the fervent wish that you'd never been born."

Without warning, Tala suddenly snatched a nearby rag and stuffed it forcefully in Kurzan's mouth, muffling any cry for assistance that may have been forthcoming. The cold steel in her hand sparkled with evil anticipation as the villainess drew a long, shallow cut across the length of Kurzan's cheek, and her tone was almost sultry. "I think I shall cut off your fingers first, then your toes and lips. We have all day to play our little game, so why hurry?"

With a soft _snick, _Tala sliced off the tip of Kurzan's ear expertly. "No one is coming to save you," she murmured, brushing the mop of blue hair from his eyes to slice a thin laceration above Kurzan's brow. "And no one would come to your aid even if they knew of your plight. You should have realized that your Master is not concerned whether you live or die, nor is he the friend he pretends to be. Haven't you _realized _it by now?" the woman's face became sadistically gleeful as she went to prick his throat. "_You don't have any friends in this world, Kurzan Vortigern! __Nobody __cares about __you!__"_

_SHKLUK._

Tala gasped, blood spilling over her lips as she glanced down in shock at blackened sword that had suddenly emerged from her chest. The color drained from her once beautiful face, and the Fell Blade had just enough strength to turn her head and look her killer in the eye.

Katrina Placidae's hand shook as it clutched the hilt of one of Kurzan's blades, her eyes tearful yet determined. "I beg to differ," she said quietly, freeing the weapon with a wrench before rapidly forcing down the bile that rose in her throat.

The doomed Tala staggered, her blood dripping onto the sickbay floor, and her wobbly, dying gait carried her through a large, stained-glass door that led to a balcony adjoining Kurzan's room.

The villainess's blue eyes met Kurzan's gold ones, and with her final breath, Tala the Sly of the Six Fell Blades said simply:

"Radagast…_lives."_

Then the woman's gaze clouded over, and with almost cinematic drama, she swayed for just a moment before toppling over the rail and plummeting out of sight to the courtyard below.

The gore-stained blade clattered from Katrina's nerveless hands, and her breath came in ragged sobs as the full brunt of what she had done hit her with the force of a runaway train. Speechless with horror and self-loathing, the normally gentle princess fell to pieces with force of her revulsion. Katrina's shoulders hitched, her tears running freely down her cheeks, and she turned to leave, to be alone with her misery-

-Only to find herself, in the space of an instant, wrapped in the firm, unyielding arms of Kurzan, who had laboriously risen from his bed in an attempt to ease his ward's distress.

The princess gave a small _eep _of surprise as Kurzan held her close, and Katrina could _hear _the slow, steady beating of his stolid heart while his chest seemed chiseled from unyielding stone. The assassin's fur was surprisingly _warm, _not unlike a thick blanket; the soft, velvety hair that grew on Kurzan's body made Katrina want to subconsciously run her fingers through it, as one would a cat.

His voice was rough and hoarse, his breath hot, as Kurzan spoke in her ear.

"Do not lose sleep over one such as Tala, my lady," he said gently, in his characteristically monosyllabic style of speech. "I do not desire to see you so upset."

"But…But she said…there's more like her!" Katrina whispered fearfully, her panic and fear overriding any embarrassment or self-consciousness at such…_close_ contact. "You heard it yourself! It is only a matter of time before they try again!"

"I know," Kurzan murmured, hesitating for a moment before running his hands through her hair. "And I will be ready for them."

"No matter what…" he added, his voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible, "…I will always protect you."

A/N: Wow! Looks like Katrina isn't always as fragile as she seems! XD But before I go any further, I want to apologize again for making you all wait so long. I had two tests this past week, including one in Algebra (*shudders*), so my afternoons were booked with studying. It just about KILLED me to make you all wait so long, and I thank you all once more for your patience. As a reward, I give you a guarantee that the next chapter will be up by Monday! ^^ As always, PLEASE REVIEW! I only got a handful of reviews last time, so any and all input and feedback from my readers would be _most _welcome! I want to hear what YOU have to say! ^^ But just who _is _this 'Radagast?' What is his connection to Kurzan? And what foul machinations does the Black Legion have in motion? Find out in coming chapters of "The Emperor's Hand!"

I am, and shall always be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S: I fucking hate algebra, I fucking hate algebra, I fucking hate algebra, I fucking hate it, _I hate it, __I hate it_, _I HATE IT! I HATE IT! _*Goes into a psychotic rage before water is thrown from off-screen*

*Spits out water* Ahem. Sorry about that. But anyway, I fucking hate algebra. ^^


	8. Chapter 8

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 8: An Assassin Amongst Thieves! Kurzan Vortigern in Hazar's Court!

_Prologue_

_Somewhere…_

_The dank, dark, subterranean grotto where Kurzan Vortigern found himself trudging through ankle-deep sewage was hardly a suitable location for one whose wounds had not even fully healed. It was, if anything, a veritable receptacle of pestilence, swarming with enormous rats and disgusting cockroaches that scurried and squeaked in all directions. Countless layers of encrusted filth clung like moss to the slimy stones that made up this unsavory corridor, and water dripped hollowly and steadily from some unseen source. The only light here came from the flickering torch that the mutant held in his hand, and Kurzan gritted his teeth in both frustration at his current position and pain from his still-tender injuries. _

_In direct defiance of the recommendations of the healer, Sargeras, Kurzan had set out before sunrise on an urgent mission that he had set for himself. The assassin was well aware that he knew too little of what had transpired thus far; while his former comrades, the Six Fell Blades, were obviously in town, Kurzan had no idea who they might be working for or where their base of operations might be. It was critical to the maintenance of Katrina's safety that such crucial information be acquired, otherwise Kurzan might end up fighting an entire war all by himself and he wouldn't know it before it was too late._

_Unfortunately, Kurzan had, on the behalf of Caesar, personally killed off all of those who might have been willing to spill the proverbial beans. Dead men, after all, tended to keep their mouths shut. The Emperor's hand was fresh out of useful spies and informants._

_Save, perhaps, for one._

_Kurzan clenched his jaw so hard that he could hear his teeth creak. The mutant would be quite happy to fall upon his own blades rather than go to him for help with anything, but in such dangerous times, one could not afford to be choosy. Though the thought was repugnant and personally degrading to the helplessly maddened Kurzan, he was forced, for now, to put his personal distaste aside._

_There was only one man left in all of Rome who might have heard whispers of the Fell Blades, and he was the one person Kurzan would be quite happy never to see again._

_He'd run into him in the marketplace just the other day._

_It made sense, Kurzan thought, for the Thief Lord Hazar to make his headquarters in such an unappealing and remote place. These catacombs had been built over a century ago as an emergency supply line should Rome ever come under siege, but in time the tunnels fell into disuse and were forgotten by the inhabitants above._

_But then Hazar and his band of renegades had rediscovered them, and now the system of corridors that honeycombed the earth beneath the streets of Rome had been put to more…lucrative uses._

_All in all, this was the last place on the planet Kurzan wanted to be, and his boots sloshed audibly through the reeking mud as he stolidly continued on his way. He'd known the location of Hazar's hideout for some time now, and the only reason he had not told Master about it was because the Thief Lord's vast knowledge of underworld goings-on might one day come in handy._

_To Kurzan's eternal sorrow, that assumption had turned out to be correct, and now he bitterly cursed the circumstances that had made it necessary to ask Hazar, of all people, for help._

_The assassin turned a corner, passing by a yellowed human skull as some hideous insect skittered out of its eye socket. The skull's former owner had apparently met a violent demise, as one side of it had been completely caved in by some monstrous blow._

_Apparently the Court of Rogues did not take kindly to trespassers._

_Kurzan was not afraid, however; he was more than a match for any of Hazar's men, including the Thief Lord himself. Hazar would not and could not afford to have so many of his subordinates die trying to carry out a death sentence on the assassin's head. _

_The musty, smelly and wet tunnel grew more narrow and treacherous as Kurzan continued on his way. Some parts were so decrepit and ill-used that they were almost ready to cave in, and the mutant's pace quickened as the terrain grew ever more treacherous. Down, down into the dark, dripping recesses he went, his flickering flame casting eerie shadows on the fungus-covered walls as his golden eyes remained bright and alert._

_Caution, after all, was justified in Kurzan's current situation._

_He knew he was not alone down here._

_Without warning, the assassin suddenly came to halt, the slow-moving river of foul water churning about his feet as one hand gripped edged toward the twin blades on his back._

"_I know you're there," he said, seemingly to no one in particular. "Come out and show yourselves! There is nothing to be gained by skulking about in the muck!"_

_The flame in Kurzan's fingers was abruptly blow out with an audible whoosh, and something cold and sharp pressed between the assassin's shoulder blades as a harsh voice grated in his ear. "And what business does the Emperor's dog have here? You were very clever to have found your way to us, but you will not live long enough to tell your master of what you found. You have seen and heard too much, assassin, far too much, and now you must die."_

_Kurzan's voice showed no fear. "I want to talk to Hazar," he said, jiggling a bag of coins on his belt for emphasis. "Do not be so eager to murder the one whom your master owes a debt; the Court's location has been known to me for over a year. It is only my good graces that keep the Praetorian Guard from your doorstep, and Hazar knows it." _

"_He is right, brother!" a second voice, its owner invisible in the inky darkness, hissed urgently. "This one and the King of Thieves have an…understanding. Milord has ordered that he be given safe passage to the Court, in recognition of this bargain, and it will not go well for us if he is slain! You know this to be true!"_

"_Very well," the first spat, his voice resentful at having been overruled. With a crack and a hiss, the flare in Kurzan's palm flickered once more to life, and the two gigantic thugs who had previously barred the mutant's way now bowed at the waist in unison._

"_Our Master, Hazar the Great, bids thee welcome," one of them intoned. "And by his command, you will be granted the audience you seek as an honored guest in his home."_

"_Come," the second added, turning to leave and motioning for Kurzan to follow. "We will take you to him…"_

_Now…_

The Court of Rogues had, over the course of its long existence, attained nearly mythical status in the minds of Rome's citizens. It was a place of infamous notoriety, a dive where brigands and scoundrels congregated to trade plunder and ill gotten gains in the company of prostitutes and bottomless mugs of rot-gut liquor. It was quite unlike any other place, as colorful and vibrant as it was dark and dangerous.

Upon being ushered into the enormous, towering cavern that Hazar called home, Kurzan could see that the Court's reputation was more than justified.

Unlike the sewer from whence he'd emerged, the realm of Hazar was _loud. _Cutthroats and thieves of every shape and size took their ease in their dozens and scores, until the entire room echoed with the loud, harsh, grating cacophony of Hazar's host. Drinking, eating, roistering and gambling, the brigands of Rome enjoyed the fruits of their dubious trade after the hardships of life on the street. Ragged banners and stained streamers formed a rainbow of satin and silk as they hung from the ceiling, and beneath awnings of canvas and felt, allegiances were forged and deals were made. Deafening was the clamor here: drunken cutpurses brawled over games and dice, yelling and roaring over some perceived insult while others shrieked in merriment at the sight. The breaking of dishes, the sloshing of wine, and the ever-present jangle of coin and currency gave the entire place a very chaotic atmosphere; in fact, it would not be a stretch to call the whole operation little more than a freak show and a circus.

And, atop a raised dais in the center of the Court, the ringmaster sat upon a makeshift throne of discarded bricks. Hazar, King of Thieves and the undisputed master of Rome's criminal underworld, seemed right at home in this charged climate. Though he was flamboyant and flowery, there was no contesting the fact that Hazar alone was capable of keeping such men as these in line; the Thief Lord had expanded his operation to enormously lucrative proportions while harshly cutting down on wanton violence. The system, unorganized though it may have been, proved effective, and now Hazar ruled the underbelly of the civilized world with a combination of benevolence, diplomacy and utter brutality toward any who crossed him.

The ruler of the Court of Rogues stood, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree as Kurzan was ushered roughly into the midst of the rabble. So gleeful was the smile on Hazar's features that he looked less like a crime boss and more like a child whose friend had come over unexpectedly to play.

"Kurzan, old chum!" he cried, his voice bringing about utter and instantaneous silence from his subjects. "I always hoped you'd come and visit me one of these days! Please, take a seat," he added, gesturing vaguely around him. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can't have my guests going without food or drink, you know; such inhospitality is hardly the mark of a gracious host! Bring us refreshment!" he called, putting on a show of imperiousness for Kurzan's benefit. "It is not often that we have visitors!"

"Maybe that's because you make a habit of killing them," Kurzan replied acidly.

"Well, some secrets are better left untold," Hazar shrugged magnanimously as he gestured toward a nearby table. "Shall we?"

"I'd rather not, to be perfectly honest, but the situation has forced my hand."

"Oh, really?" Hazar arched an eyebrow as he plopped himself down, sipping delicately at a goblet of wine that was set gently in front of him. "Do tell."

"The less you know, the better," Kurzan told him bluntly. "It doesn't concern you."

"Then why come all the way down here?" Hazar grinned. "I hardly think you'd make such a journey just to chat."

"No," Kurzan's tone held no emotion. "I'm here because you owe me a favor, Hazar, and I've come to collect. You know well enough that I kept the Emperor in the dark when I discovered the location of the Court. He would have had you all exterminated if I had come clean."

"True enough, I suppose," Hazar admitted, taking a swig from his cup. "So what, exactly, do you want from little old me, eh? Money? Soldiers?"

"Information," the assassin replied. "The Six Fell Blades have come to Rome."

Hazar abruptly choked on his drink. "_What?"_

"You heard me."

The Thief Lord's expression turned uncharacteristically grim. "Then these are grave times, indeed, for such as _them _to come crawling out of the woodwork. But you know, Kurzan, that the Six don't work for free."

"Exactly," the mutant nodded. "And I need to find out who's pulling their strings."

"So you came to me for information, then?" Hazar clapped a hand to his heart. "You flatter me, old friend! But I fear that I, too, do not believe in charity; one does not normally go prying where the Fell Ones are concerned. I will not put myself, my people or my operation in jeopardy without knowing _exactly _what's going on."

"They tried to kill Katrina. Twice."

Hazar froze, as if someone had pressed the "pause" button on a remote control, and Kurzan knew he'd caught the Thief Lord's attention. Hazar's hand slowly curled into a shaking fist, and his gaze turned cold. "Is she…?"

"She's alive," Kurzan stated. "But for how much longer is an open question. The Blades infiltrated the Imperial Palace on two separate occasions."

"But to slip past the Praetorian Guard like that would hint at an inside informant," Hazar spat. "A spy."

"Exactly."

"Any suspicions?"

"None so far. The traitor may be the palace cook for all I know."

"Why target Katrina?" Hazar wondered. "She's only a girl, and of no threat to anyone."

"The survival of Caesar's bloodline rests solely with her," Kurzan murmured. "She is Master's only living relative, and the child she will one day bear will be the heir to the Empire."

"Then to target the princess…" Hazar gasped as the grim truth dawned upon him. "Someone is tying up loose ends! Without an heir, all of Rome will be up for grabs!"

"Which could mean that the Blades' employers might be plotting a coup d'état or even civil war," Kurzan concluded grimly. "Which brings me to _my _question: do you know anything about _any _of this?"

"No," Hazar growled. "But I swear to you, I am going to find out. This enemy, whoever he may be, is far too dangerous for either of us to ignore. None of us here in the Court of Rogues have any love for the Empire, but there are some things even _I _would not wish upon the Emperor. Besides, we have all grown fat under Caesar's regime; whoever usurps him might not be so charitable. My men and I can reach places you cannot, Kurzan, and I myself know of circles most do not even think exist." The Thief Lord stood abruptly, gesturing for quiet amongst the rabble once more as he extended his hand and spat on it. "We have a common enemy, you and I."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Can you afford otherwise?" Hazar asked quietly. "Your suspicion is understandable, but unjustified. I have never shown any ill will toward you personally, and I certainly don't want any harm to come to the princess. I'm a thief, not a traitor," he added. "And I give you my oath of assistance this day, as does every man who stands with me. Truce?"

Kurzan was personally repulsed by the thought of working alongside the person he liked least in this world, but the cold, logical side of him knew that Hazar had a point.

The assassin's blue, furry hand clasped Hazar's forearm in a warrior's handshake.

"Agreed."

A/N: And thus, I present to you chapter eight, along with the second appearance of Hazar that I told you guys about earlier! ^^ Do I keep my promises or what? XD Trust me, the flamboyant Hazar has his own role to play in this tale! But who is the traitor that lurks in the halls of the Imperial Palace? What will come of Hazar's promise? And will the Fell Blades succeed in their nefarious mission? Find out in coming chapters! ^^ And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! I want to hear what YOU have to say!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	9. Chapter 9

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 9: Of Swords and Romance

It was a peaceful and quiet morning.

The rays of the new dawn tinted the scattered clouds in hues of pink, red, orange and violet, its golden haze lining them with edges of blinding silver and purest gold to create a sight so wondrous that it seemed as if the great artisans of old had used the very heavens as their canvas and the soft light as paint for their brushes. The orb of the rising sun, a flawless ruby dipped in molten gold, rose over the horizon to a fanfare of sweetly twittering birds and chirping crickets as the city of Rome began to awaken from its slumber.

Droplets of dew still clung to the grass underfoot and soaked the leg of the loose, grew tunic that Kurzan wore, and the heavy, viscous water were so great in number that they became almost blinding as they sparkled with the reflected light of the midmorning sun. The soft, verdant blades of green were flattened carelessly as Kurzan Vortigern went about his daily exercise regimen, and the edges of his swords rang audibly as they sliced through the air.

Kurzan was almost religious about keeping his fighting skills up to snuff. Every morning, rain or shine, he would head to a secluded part of the royal gardens and spend over an hour honing his lethal talents. The mutant's chest heaved in and out like the bellows of a blacksmith's forge, but Kurzan's expression gave no indication of how arduous his grueling session was. To him, feeling discomfort and fatigue when going about one's training was _good;_ pain was, after all, merely the manifestation of weakness leaving the body. Thus, to hurt and suffer during exercise was not only to be expected, but hoped for as well.

A rasping pant issued forth from between Kurzan's elongated fangs, and his tongue lolled slightly as he gave in to the pleasure of doing the one thing in life he'd ever enjoyed. The blades in his hands felt as much a part of him as his arms and legs, and Kurzan's heart soared as his maneuvers grew ever more complex and graceful. The hum of the steel, the weight of the metal…

This was what Kurzan had been born to do.

But, personal preferences and pleasures aside, the young mutant had a second, and far more private reason for being out here on this particular morning, one that ran deeper than the mere maintenance of his fighting abilities. This morning was unique, for in his heart, Kurzan knew that it was not the need to practice that drew him here.

The real reason Kurzan was trying to absorb himself in his training was to take his mind of _her._

It should be remembered that Kurzan Vortigern was skilled in many things.

He was adroit with an axe, deft with a dagger, accurate with an arrow and skilled with a sword. He knew every pressure point and weak spot of the human body, knew how to kill and slay with a minimum expenditure of effort and strength. So amazing and extraordinary was his talent with arms that numbers often meant little to him, the encounter with Veeku notwithstanding.

Yes, Kurzan Vortigern was skilled in a great many things.

Unfortunately, dealing with women was not one of them.

The princess..._confused _him.

More and more, Kurzan found his mind straying to her. Katrina had begun to dominate his waking thoughts with increasing tenacity; every day that Kurzan was with her, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper under her peculiar spell. Just being _near _Katrina made him feel _something, _something intense and deep and strong, a powerful feeling both new and frightening and yet not altogether unpleasant. The sweet smell of her gentle perfume, her gentle smile, and her sweet, crystalline laugh all had an almost intoxicating effect upon Kurzan; just _looking _at her made him feel uncharacteristically awkward and self-conscious. The image of Katrina's face had been burned into his mind to such a degree that the thought of her stole his breath away, and Kurzan found sleep unforthcoming when _she _seemed to fill his every pore. Even if he had not been bound by oath to the Emperor, even if Katrina had not been placed under his watch, it still would have seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Kurzan to care for and protect the princess. The memory of the softness of her touch during his stay in the palace infirmary still haunted Kurzan's mind like a restless spirit, for no one had ever shown such tenderness toward him before. He recalled how smooth and gentle her fingers had been on his cheek, how her eyes had sparkled as they'd gazed into his, and how…_amazing _it had been, to be treated so.

Now something stirred within him, fracturing his emotionless, dutiful mask into pieces. It seemed impossible for him to keep himself professional around Katrina, who made him feel this way, and slowly, one part at a time, the princess was beginning to melt the hard shell that had grown over the heart which beat in Kurzan's chest. The fire that had been lit within his soul was starting to consume him with his raw, aching _need_ for her. And need her Kurzan did, as much as he needed food and water, and possibly more. Every moment away from Katrina seemed an eternity, every second that he did not spend with her lasted a lifetime, and every time he stood in her presence was as refreshing and sweet as a drink of cool water on a hot and windy day.

But despite all of this, the fact remained that even if Kurzan had been cognizant enough of his feelings to pursue a relationship with Katrina, his loyalties would be irreparably torn.

Her uncle was the Emperor, Kurzan's master. The assassin was loyal to Caesar, and he was very grateful to the Emperor for giving him his freedom.

But, and to the adverse, Kurzan was also loyal to Katrina. He wanted to be with her more than he'd ever wanted anything else, for the thought of a life without her in it did not seem worth the effort.

How could Kurzan, or anyone else, make such a terrible decision?

And there was more to his problems. Katrina was royalty, last of the Royal Household and Caesar's only remaining relative. Kurzan, by contrast, was a servant, an ex-gladiator born and raised in the lowest dregs of Roman society. He could not hope to compete with Katrina's extensive pedigree, and the thought of one such as he taking the princess's hand in marriage would stir outcry and perhaps even rebellion among Caesar's court. The Emperor himself would hardly approve of such a union, Kurzan knew. In all likelihood, Master might very well have him killed for _daring _to ask such a thing.

What Kurzan subconsciously desired could never be, no matter how much some rebellious part of him might want it.

_He_ was a servant, and _she_ was royalty.

Kurzan served the Emperor, yet his heart yearned for Katrina.

Searing anger at the sheer helplessness of the situation made the blood in Kurzan's veins seethe as he mopped sweat from his brow with the back of his malformed hand. The assassin turned to reach for the skin of water that lay nearby-

-And only just refrained from hissing with surprise as the princess handed it to him.

A most unnatural heat made Kurzan's face burned as he bowed hastily. "M-my lady," he said. "Forgive me. I did not see you." _How…How long has she been there watching?_

"The fault is mine," Katrina shook her head. "It was not my intention to startle you."

"If I might ask, why is my lady up so early?" Kurzan asked, averting his eyes lest they be drawn to her beauty. "Are you ill?"

"No," Katrina admitted. "Actually, I got up this morning because I wanted to ask you something."

Kurzan's stomach abruptly performed a back-flip of Olympian levels, and the blood began pounding in his ears. "You do not need my permission to do anything…Katrina," he said, barely managing to overcome his sense of propriety in uttering the woman's name.

"Actually, in this case, I believe I do," Katrina replied, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want…I want you to teach me. To use weapons, I mean."

He fought to keep his mouth from dropping. "Wh-what?"

"You said yourself that whoever made the attempt on my life will try again, sooner or later," Katrina said. "I have been thinking about it, and I do not intend to be as helpless as I was then. I want to be able to defend myself. I have not forgotten how close you came to death that night, Kurzan" she added, her tone growing hushed. "You were outnumbered, and I could do nothing. I felt…" the princess's voice cracked for a moment. "I hated that I couldn't help you, and I felt like such a burden."

"Master would never approve," Kurzan murmured.

"What Uncle does not know will not harm him," Katrina retorted, seeming less like a princess and more like a rebellious teenager before leaning close to gaze up at him. "Please?"

The way she looked up at the startled young mutant, one could almost hear the fuses in Kurzan's brain beginning to short-circuit. Fiery heat spread across his cheeks at Katrina's pleading face-_God, she was so CUTE when she made that face-_and his normally iron-clad resolve promptly abandoned him. His arms _itched _to wrap around her, to draw her close and hold her and run his fingers through her hair and-

Kurzan forced his mind back to the present, shaking his head as if buzzed by a fly in a vain attempt to banish the whirlwind of emotions that now raged within his chest. "V-v-very well," he stammered, still somewhat incoherent. "If you will follow me, my lady, I will show you to the training room."

"Thank you." The princess's voice was sincere as she drew back from him, a most curious shade of vermillion coloring the edge of her cheeks, as if Katrina also realized how _close _she had been to him. She glanced away almost shyly, her slender hand brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and Kurzan felt his face begin to burn afresh at how _adorable _she made the simple action seem.

The sojourn to the palace armory was relatively short, but it seemed interminably long due to the lengthy, awkward and most uncomfortable silence in which it was made. The footsteps of Kurzan and his ward seemed deafening in the thick pall that had descended upon the pair, and both were enormously relieved when Kurzan finally came to a stop. He knew the location of this particular room by heart, having spent so many long hours within it; the assassin probably could have found his way there blindfolded if he'd had the mind to try.

Kurzan fumbled with a pair of keys on his belt, his grasp slippery and nervous as he turned the lock and gestured Katrina inside. "After you, my lady."

The princess, now somewhat less confident, slipped quietly through the door to stand amidst the countless racks and rows of glittering, sharpened steel. Spears, pikes, and swords of every imaginable shape and size were stored alongside countless quivers of fletched arrows and bowstrings of sinew. Daggers both long and short were stored in bins and buckets, jostling for space with wooden spear shafts that had yet to be mounted with sharpened blades.

Katrina's felt something heavy and unfamiliar being handed to her, and she fought to keep from gasping as Kurzan gently pressed a blunted training sword into her fingers. The sensation of his velvety fur against her skin sent pleasant chills up Katrina's spine, and her senses began to swim as she realized how close he was. Some part of her, no matter how small, wanted Kurzan to take her by the hand and draw her close to him, to have his strong and firm yet tender body draw close to her own so that she could feel their pulses beating against each other as his soft fur enveloped her like a warm, protective blanket-

She blinked, and the runaway train of her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as one, singular conclusion chilled the blood in the gentle Katrina's veins.

This tool that she now clutched had but one purpose: to slay. To kill men and rend flesh asunder. Such a thing was beyond anything Katrina had ever been capable of! The thought of killing another human being was so unbearably repugnant to her that she began to grow dizzy -

-Until memories that had haunted both her dreams and waking hours flashed through her mind's eye.

_The wounded Kurzan, an arrow protruding from his chest, fighting on against the odds even as his blood flowed freely to the ground…_

_The dying mutant that she had held in her arms, the beating of his heart weak and erratic as his life began to fade away..._

_The horror, the horror and grief that had seared Katrina's soul when she thought that Kurzan would surely die…_

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked, his voice unusually quiet and soft.

Katrina's normally gentle eyes hardened for just a moment.

"Yes. I am."

_Epilogue_

_An undisclosed location…_

_The insidious, hooded and robed individuals who made up the leadership of the Black Legion stood in a perfect semicircle amidst the ruined, abandoned temple that served as their base of operations. The sinister intent of the ones known only as the Nine, the traitors who plotted in secret and wrapped themselves in shadow, was so great that one could almost touch it._

"_Tala the Sly is dead!" the first hissed. "The Blades have failed us!"_

"_So much for the invulnerable assassins!" another scoffed, addressing their silent and brooding leader. "We paid the Fell Ones a fortune for their services, and we expect results! The princess yet lives, as does her guard dog, the Hand!"_

"_Six Blades down to five already?" a third snorted. "We could have hired common thugs and received better in return!"_

"_And now our spies bring word from the Court of Rogues! The Hand has made an alliance with the Thief Lord, Hazar!" Still a fourth added. "This should not have happened, especially with one such as Radagast in our employ!"_

"_I beg to differ."_

_The head of the Nine spoke, and his constituents fell fearfully silent._

"_Tala's death may have been unexpected," he continued. "But she served her purpose nonetheless."_

"_And what purpose might that be?"_

"_She was merely a messenger," the leader replied. "And the message…has been delivered."_

"_What of the Court?" someone to his left inquired. "We cannot allow this new ally of the Empire to hinder us!"_

"_And so we shan't," the hooded form of the Black Legion's overlord oozed malevolence as he clapped his hands softly._

_From the inky darkness, the shadowed form of a man promptly emerged, drawn by his employers' subtle call._

"_What service might I do for you?" he asked, his tone deep, cultured, and cold._

"_Wipe out the Court," the leader ordered him harshly. "Down to the last pickpocket and street rat! Go to the realm of Hazar, and leave no eye open to weep for the dead! Slay them all, and know that failure __will not be tolerated__!"_

"_I shall lead the attack myself," the mystery man replied, glancing over his shoulder and giving a brief nod._

_At once, two other silhouettes came to stand by his side. The first was huge, as large and hulking as the giants of legend, and in one massive fist he clutched a long, rusty chain that was fastened about the neck of his companion. The links of metal clanked and rattled loudly as the one whom they restrained scurried about on all fours, his mass of unkempt dreadlocks swaying in tandem with his frantic sniffing and harsh growls. The chained man seemed to be more like a wild, dangerous animal than anything else, and dribbles of slobber dripped from his slavering jaw as he yanked mightily on his lead._

"_Allow me to introduce two of my companions," their commander said, gesturing to the hulking menace and the growling beast in turn. "The brothers Brezin and Grenza, the Strong and the Savage. I will lead them to Rome myself, and at their hands, the Court of Hazar will fall."_

"_Why go yourself?" one of the Nine asked curiously. "Surely these two are more than enough to fulfill the mission."_

"_I have some…unfinished business to settle with an old friend of mine," the mystery man replied. "It is nothing of great importance, I assure you."_

"_Then you may now take your leave," the Nine's leader inclined his hood as he spoke. "And do not return until you bring me Hazar's head!"_

_Radagast the Cruel, leader of the Fell Blades, smiled grimly as a distant memory shot through his evil brain. "Fear not, Black One. I shall sever it myself…"_

A/N: Well, THAT doesn't look good! XD But what will become of Hazar? Will Katrina and Kurzan ever realize their feelings? And will the Black Legion succeed in its nefarious plot? Find out in coming installments! And please, PLEASE review! I got less than a handful last time, and I want to hear YOUR ideas and suggestions! If YOU have any thoughts on how I can make this story more enjoyable to read, LET ME KNOW! I take any and all feedback very seriously, so please don't hesitate to give make your ideas and opinions heard! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. I don't know what went wrong, but FF didn't post this chapter the first time I submitted it. I sincerely apologize to all of you.


	10. Chapter 10

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

_(A/N: Just so you guys know, I think the song "Path" by "Apocalyptica" describes Kurzan PERFECTLY. ^^ You can find it on Youtube, by a user named "senshizelda." Seriously, you should open a new tab right now and listen to it before you read any further. It's EPIC. XD)_

Chapter 10: Revelations

_Prologue_

_Hazar's Court_

_A soft, gurgling moan escaped the wounded man's lips as he crawled upon his belly through the ruin that had once been the resplendent Court of Rogues. His face creased in agony from the pain of his injury, the thief who had been the only survivor of the slaughter that had ensued here tried to pull himself away to safety, desperate to vanish into some dark crevice before his mysterious attackers caught up with him._

_The Fell Blades, Brezin and Grenza, had fallen upon the Court with brutal swiftness. Like demons they had stormed the once-vaunted stronghold of the Thief Lord, taking Hazar's followers completely by surprise. So great had been the slaughter among the Court's ranks that the fetid water which flowed through the sewers of Rome became crimson with gore. Like wheat before the scythe, the Court of Rogues fell to the minions of Radagast the Cruel, and now blood bubbled from between the injured one's lips as he strained to escape-_

_A shadow fell over the wounded cutpurse's prone form, and he turned white with terror as Grenza the Savage grinned insanely down at him, showcasing the white teeth that had been filed to jagged points. Ribbons of drool hung from corners of the psychotic killer's mouth as he bared his fangs, his eyes bloodshot and sunken, his breath rasping and harsh. A sick, sick smile stretched the sallow skin over the Savage One's face, and he caressed the edge of a bloody cleaver lovingly before slowly, ever so slowly, licking gore from the weapon's tip._

_Grenza's victim had time for one last, despairing scream before the maniac fell upon him and cut him to pieces._

_The ground underfoot trembled as Brezin the Strong lumbered up behind his brother, his brutish face showing not the least concern for Grenza's psychotic actions. "All dead," the dimwitted giant rumbled as he hefted his massive, gore-stained mace, apparently unwilling to expend effort on uttering words with more than one syllable._

"_That isssss point, yessss?" Grenza hissed, looking up from the mutilated corpse with a blood-spattered face. "To kill all? To sssslay all?"_

_Brezin gave a coarse grunt by way of reply, shouldering his enormous, spike-studded and bulbous weapon as he made to leave. He did not look back over his shoulder; Grenza would find his way back sooner or later._

_After his mid-morning snack, of course._

_The psychopath leered down at the shredded body of his victim, his tongue rolling over his teeth as he cast his weapon aside. "Good meeeeat…fressssh meat….yesssss….."_

_Now…_

Every part of Katrina Placidae _ached. _

Katrina Placidae was utterly exhausted, but her aching muscles and bone-deep fatigue had no dampening effect on the good spirit that had settled about her.

Katrina found, as the lesson had progressed, that Kurzan's lessons, while arduous, were thoroughly enjoyable. Her protector was an expert with any weapon one could care to name, and his impressive knowledge of arms and armor had become vividly apparent to the princess in the course of his lessons. Katrina was ready and willing to learn, but she was pleasantly surprised to find Kurzan opening up to her more and more as the minutes had turned to hours. Before she knew it, he was speaking freely, casting protocol and propriety by the wayside, until the two seemed less like mistress and servant and very much like a young man and a young woman enjoying each other's company. Katrina, though she would never admit it, had been inwardly delighted that he had felt so comfortable in her presence. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable day that she had spent in the armory with Kurzan, but now that her lesson was over, Katrina found her mind and body beset by feelings unlike any she'd never felt before.

The princess blushed as she remembered one particular incident where Kurzan had checked her for thrusting a spear incorrectly. "You could break your wrist, swinging it like that," he'd said, placing his hand upon hers and molding Katrina's fingers into the desired posture. "Don't clutch it so tightly, either; your grip should be firm enough that the weapon can't knocked away, but loose enough to allow for dexterity."

Pleasant, tingling fire had crackled up Katrina's arm while goosebumps broke out where his soft, furry fingers had touched. Katrina's heart had nearly skipped a beat before its rapidly hastening beat had begun to pound in her ears, and when the assassin had pulled his hand away, she was astonished to find herself wishing that he would not remove it. Kurzan, for all his lethality, was so…_soft, _Katrina admitted. His fur was as soft and warm as a cat's, as snug and reassuring as the fuzz on a stuffed animal. The hands that had slain men with utter mercilessness at the behest of Caesar now treated Katrina with a gentility that would not arouse a kitten from its sleep, as if Kurzan feared that Katrina would break if he touched her too hard. The princess couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to have those strong yet gentle hands clasp her own…

Katrina's ears began to burn. Did Kurzan have some kind of magic, to dominate her waking thoughts like this? No man had ever caused her such confusion!

No one had ever made her heart race, as Kurzan did.

Katrina sighed, flopping like a fish onto her bed in the vain hope that sleep would give her a temporary respite from the turmoil that she felt….

_Meanwhile…_

Kurzan Vortigern was actually _humming _softly to himself as he finished putting away the variety of tools and training equipment that he had used throughout the course of Katrina's tutelage that day. There was a bounce in his step that had not been there before, and a smile, small but visible nonetheless, fractured the stony mask that the assassin so often wore.

Katrina, to Kurzan's secret delight, had turned out to be a fast learner. The young mutant's initial fears that his harsh method of training would be too much for the gentle princess had been proven to be so utterly _wrong _that Kurzan felt somewhat embarrassed for underestimating Katrina. The girl had taken to weapons like a fish to water, and Kurzan found himself enjoying the lesson more and more as her enthusiasm had grown. The assassin had given Katrina the full benefit of his unrivaled knowledge of arms and armor, and it was for this that he had earned the princess's admiration.

Kurzan had been so inwardly thrilled at this that, had he been a light bulb, he would have glowed so brightly that he'd have blown a fuse. That Katrina looked up to him for something, for _anything, _made him…_happy._

_She _made him _happy._

That thought, that singular conclusion, was so powerful that it made Kurzan pause for a moment before turning to exit the armory. When was the last time he'd been truly _happy_? When was the last time had he ever felt such joy and contentment?

The more he thought about it, the more Kurzan realized that he couldn't remember.

True, he was loyal and carried out his orders faithfully, but that more of a job or occupation than anything else. Kurzan made a habit of training every morning, too, and the exercise was far from unpleasant, but….

But it didn't make him _happy._

_No one _had ever made him feel this way. _Never _had Kurzan Vortigern cared for someone as he did for Katrina, down to the last cell and fiber of his very being. Being with Katrina had made the young assassin feel so utterly _complete, _as if a long-lost piece of himself had finally been found again.

Kurzan made to shut the door, absorbed in his thoughts-

-And the wooden panels swung away to reveal the shadow of Radagast the Cruel, who had been hiding there all along.

The leader of the Fell Blades spoke just before the mutant had finished making his exit.

"Hello, Kurzan."

The assassin halted abruptly, stiff with shock, surprise, and _fear _at the sound of a voice he'd never expected to hear again. Something cold and sharp tickled the nape of Kurzan's neck, and Radagast's tone was pleasantly conversational.

"Don't turn around, _boy. _Don't try calling for help or for assistance. To do either would seal your doom."

"Radagast," Kurzan breathed. "So Tala wasn't lying, then. You _are _alive."

"Despite your best efforts, yes, I am very much among the living," Radagast chuckled. "Though by rights, I _should _be dead, seeing as how _you _were the one sent to kill me. I was supposed to be your first, correct? I was to be the first man to die upon your sword after you came into the Emperor's service. I'll bet not five minutes passed after you swore fealty to Caesar before he sent you after me."

"It was _two _minutes," Kurzan growled, "And you deserved no less, after what you did. How many people did you kill on the side in between your bouts in the arena, Radagast? How many died to sate your bloodlust?"

"Five men, ten women, fourteen children, seven cats, six dogs, and a rather nasty massacre of poultry," Radagast grinned. "But it's not as if you're any better than I, now is it?"

"I never killed anyone for fun," Kurzan spat. "Only at the command of my Master, and I never took _pleasure _in it like you do. Not once."

"You say po-_tay-to, _I say po-_tah_-to," Radagast snorted, reciting the rhyme in a disturbing singsong voice. "One should always find pleasure in his work, _boy. _I thought I taught you that, when you came to the Coliseum all those years ago as a runny-nosed, whiny little pipsqueak."

"And then you took me under your 'wing' and made me into a killer," Kurzan grated through his teeth.

"That's no way a student should address his old teacher," Radagast grinned before his gaze turned cold. "You would be nothing without me. I taught you everything you know, _molded _you into the glorious fighter you are today, and in return you tried to _kill me. _I _would _have died that night, you know, if Tala and the others had not found me shortly afterward."

"And then you used them, like you used me," the mutant hissed. "Tala _died _believing in your lies, Radagast. Grenza, Brezin, Veeku…Killers, all of them, just like you and I, but Tala…Tala was never meant to be like us. And then you took her and turned her into a monster."

"I am not concerned with Tala's fate, nor do I care greatly for Brezin and the others," Radagast's tone was bored. "They are merely tools, to be used and then discarded. Nothing more."

Two double-edged, sharply curved sabers abruptly closed around Kurzan's neck, and the villain made as if to decapitate his erstwhile foe-

-But then, quite suddenly, Radagast lowered his weapons, delighting in his enemy's confusion.

"I'm not going to kill you, _boy, _because I want you to be able to witness what is about to happen. I want you to be able to _watch _as everything you hold dear _burns to ashes_ around you. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone, and it is only a matter of time before your entire _world _falls apart. Oh, yes, it _will _come to pass, Kurzan Vortigern," Radagast added, his voice a serpentine hiss as he leaned in the mutant's ear. "And no matter _where_ you go…no matter _what_ you do…no matter how you _squirm…"_

The villain enunciated his final message slowly, dividing one simple sentence into three broken fragments for emphasis so that Kurzan could hear the sincerity therein.

"There is _nothing. _You can do. To stop it."

Then as swiftly as he had come, Radagast the Cruel, Kurzan's oldest and most deadly enemy, seemed to vanish without a trace like smoke on the wind.

Kurzan stood rooted to the spot for several moments, and when he could finally get his legs to work again, he went to look for water.

His mouth was dry with _fear…_

_Epilogue_

_Somewhere…._

_The Council of Nine, foreboding and ominous, stood in a flawless half-circle with bowed heads and evil sobriety in the solace of their hidden lair. Something electric and utterly malevolent charged the air around them, something so completely malicious and cruel that it made the birds fall silent and the wind lay still, and in perfect unison, the leaders of the Black Legion raised their hidden faces to taint the world with their nefarious intent._

_Then they spoke._

"_Our eyes and ears bring word. Hazar yet lives."_

"_It is of no consequence."_

"_He is of no concern to us now."_

"_His power is broken."_

"_The time has come."_

"_The hour is upon us."_

"_Our triumph draws near."_

_The statements were given with almost ceremonial solemnity, and now the Nine turned to the one who commanded their loyalty through fear, the Lord of the Black Legion who had for years plotted in the shadows of the void._

_Slowly, deliberately, the leader of the Nine raised his arms to remove the cowl that concealed his identity._

"_Send out the call," Sargeras, the palace healer, intoned. "Gather our followers to us. The Rising has begun!"_

A/N: DAMN! I just _knew _something wasn't right about Sargeras! But will he succeed in his evil plans? Will Radagast take revenge on Kurzan? Will Katrina make it out of this mess alive? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	11. Chapter 11

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 11: The Darkest Hour

_Prologue_

_Sargeras, the diabolical Lord of the Black Legion, stood in gleeful silence in his perch on a balcony overlooking the Eternal City. His thoughts were as dark and sinister as the withered heart that beat within his chest, and the arch-villain murmured quietly to himself as, below him, the once-proud metropolis of Rome began to burn while its streets ran red with the blood of its own people. Marvels of human engineering and beautiful works of art were put to the torch as the soldiers of the Legion, clad in black armor, went on a rampage of pillage and slaughter. Screams of terror and pain sent a cold, cruel smile tugging at the corners of Sargeras's lips, and he clasped the railing tightly as he reveled in the destruction he'd wrought._

_The purge was utterly devastating, reaching to every corner of Caesar's once-invincible dominion._

_In the outposts and encampments of the Imperial Army, Roman legionnaires dropped back behind their generals before cutting them down with slashing swords or volleys of viciously humming arrows._

_In the floor of the Senate, legislators pulled daggers from their sleeves and fell upon their unsuspecting constituents._

_In the halls of the Imperial palace, soldiers of the Praetorian Guard turned on their surprised comrades._

_The Black Legion attacks, and Romans die._

_All across the Empire. All at once._

_Romans die._

_Now…_

The Black Legion's coup had happened so _fast_that Kurzan Vortigern hadn't even have enough time to figure out what was going on before he'd found himself under attack. Rome had started tearing itself apart so suddenly that it seemed as if someone had flipped a switch, and now the young assassin's breath came harsh and fast as he neatly decapitated his most recent assailant before rushing into the ruin that had once his home. The tiles were so wet with blood that Kurzan had to fight to keep from tripping, and his tail thrashed like an angry serpent as the blood pounded in his ears.

Urgency had thrown the assassin's already legendary skill into overdrive, and Kurzan did not _run_so much as he _blurred_down the gore-spattered passageway. His swords still in hand, his heart pounding in his chest like some monstrous drum, Kurzan fought not to give in to despair as the words of Radagast were confirmed in their brutal honesty.

The mutant shoved his despondency into some dark corner of his mind. If by some miracle he was able to escape Rome alive, there would be ample time for him to give in to his grief. He needed to live, if not for himself, then for _her._

An unfamiliar lump formed in Kurzan's throat, and rebellious tears-_tears!_-formed at the corners of his golden eyes. His body shook with the force of the sobs that made Kurzan's shoulders hitch as fear for Katrina's safety turned the blood to ice in his veins. Worry and panic threatened to consume him, threatened to make Kurzan vomit as the thought of Katrina, lying slain, flashed in his mind's eye.

If she was dead…If Katrina had fallen because he had not been there to defend her…

Fear and pain made Kurzan's normally fearless heart wrench agony, and the tears began to spill down his cheeks as he almost drowned in his bottomless sorrow.

If she was dead, he would be alone again.

_Don't die, Katrina…_

_Don't go. Not yet. Not when I still haven't told you…__how I feel_.

_Just hang on…_

_Please…_

The very _air_seemed to impede the assassin's progress as he hurtled down the carnage-strewn passageway, his swords held at the ready as the princess's chambers hove into view. The mutant threatened to careen out of control as he came to a sudden and panicked stop, and Kurzan kicked the door clean off its hinges amidst a deafening _bang-_

Only to find a very disheveled and very frightened-looking Katrina Placidae standing not two paces away, the edge of her own weapon halted just above the top of Kurzan's skull.

Relief washed over Kurzan with such force that his quivering knees threatened to buckle from under him, and he felt momentarily-light headed with joy before his serious personality reasserted itself.

"Oh, thank goodness," Katrina lowered her blade heavily. "For a moment, I feared my end had come."

"It may yet, if you and Master do not get to safety," Kurzan replied, taking her by the hand and leading her back out into the hallway. "We must move swiftly if any of us are to leave Rome with breath still in our bodies. Where is the Emperor?"

"Uncle was in his study less than an hour ago," Katrina replied, her tone every bit as worried as his.

Kurzan felt sick to his stomach again, and it took Herculean effort for him to force down the bile that rose in his gullet. If the Emperor had not left his private workroom since the chaos began, then it was likely that Caesar was already dead.

Even so, Kurzan had to be sure. Terrible such a confirmation may be, but the thought of living with the doubt of _not_knowing would have been even worse.

"We need to find him," Kurzan told her bluntly, taking her hand once more and drawing her close with sudden boldness. "And no matter what happens, stay with me, Katrina. As long as my heart beats, I'll look after you. But," Kurzan warned, "If I should fall, if the fight goes poorly for me, do not linger on my behalf. Run, and do not stop running until you have reached a place where these men cannot find you."

"I won't leave-"

Kurzan grasped her tightly, his voice turning somewhat harsh. "Don't throw away your life for me! I've already lived far longer than I had any right to! I would rather die knowing that you are safe than to have you fall beside me! _Do you understand?"_ he demanded, his words cracking.

"Yes," Katrina's reply was soft and sad.

"Good." Kurzan's eyes were mournful as well, and as visions of his own demise played out before those amber pools, he bitterly regretted not telling Katrina how he felt about her. If by some astronomical chance they both lived through this hellish ordeal, the assassin vowed to himself that he would not leave such things unsaid.

"Now come," the Emperor's Hand murmured. "If Master is still alive, I must find a way for the two of you to get out of the city…."

_Meanwhile…_

_WHAM!_

Caesar Augustus flinched as the door to his study buckled ominously under the impact of the makeshift battering ram that his attackers had taken to using. Each successive, concussive blow threatened to tear the wooden the entire wall asunder, and the Emperor's fears were confirmed when the wood suddenly splintered with a sickening _crack._

Though the Emperor had barred the entrance with a motley collection of furniture, the point was altogether moot. The hastily-fashioned barricade would not hold for very much longer, and in any case there was no way for Caesar to escape. The only route available to him was the window, and that option would only lead to a free-fall of considerable distance. The Emperor slowly clutched the sword at his waist, but he knew the weapon was not meant for combat; it had been fashioned as a showpiece, its fragile blade of poor quality and its edges dull.

Caesar spared a glance at his beloved Rome, and remorse made his shoulder sag as he saw his once-proud capital being burned before his very eyes.

The Empire had taken most of Caesar's lifetime to build, and yet it had fallen in a matter of hours.

The monarch looked forlornly at the hilt of his blade. _Suddenly, death does not seem entirely unappealing…_

Caesar's thoughts of putting himself into his grave were interrupted when the steady, rhythmic blow of the battering ram came to a sudden and quite conspicuous halt. Shouts of alarm could be heard on the other side of the door, followed by the brief clashing of weapons, and then…

Nothing. The voices of the Black Legion soldiers seemed to have been wiped away.

Such a metaphor would not be entirely inaccurate, seeing as how Kurzan Vortigern cut their throats.

The assassin broke down the door by hurling a man's bloody corpse against it, and Caesar stood in a vain attempt to re-establish what little was left of his dignity before Katrina's fierce hug finished it off.

"Uncle," she said simply. "I feared the worst."

"As I did for you, little one," Caesar murmured, returning the gesture gratefully. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thanks to Kurzan," Katrina whispered. "He saved my life, Uncle, and it is not the first time he has done so."

The Emperor turned to his most faithful servant, his eyes moist. Gone was any lingering notion of Imperial aloofness and pride from the once-mighty ruler. For just a moment, Caesar Augustus was nothing more than a loving Uncle who had feared for his precious niece, and who was now overjoyed to see her unharmed.

"Thank you," the Emperor said quietly, his words utterly sincere.

Kurzan averted his gaze respectfully, feeling somewhat out-of-place for his liege to address him so. "No thanks are necessary," he said, after a moment's uncomfortable pause. "I was merely carrying out your orders, Master."

Katrina's face fell, and Kurzan instantly loathed himself for having to lie about his feelings in front of the princess. Once more, the assassin swore to himself that if he lived to see tomorrow, he would set the record straight.

Assuming of course, that Katrina's heart hadn't already been irreparably broken.

"I think it is time we take our leave, my lord," Kurzan suggested, breaking the awkward silence.

"Agreed," Caesar replied fervently. "But I must confess that I am at a loss as to how we are to escape the palace without being butchered on the way."

As the two men hurriedly conversed, something moved out of the corner of Katrina's eye, drawing her gaze to the large window that had somehow remained unbroken-

-Right before it was shattered with a cacophonous _crash._

The princess's jaw dropped at the abrupt and sudden arrival of the man who now rolled across the tile to break his fall, and Caesar Augustus himself was quite at a loss for words as the Thief Lord Hazar brushed shards of glass from his tunic.

"Just look at that, will you?" he snorted, jerking a thumb at the ravaged city. "Honestly, Kurzan. I leave you alone for just a moment and now everything's gone to part!"

"It's about time you showed up," the assassin growled. "Where the hell were you?"

"Running for my life," Hazar retorted grimly, gesturing at the small group of stern-faced men who now entered the room in his wake. "You may be interested to know that the Blades paid me an unexpected house call not too long ago. They took us completely unawares. We're all that's left."

"Then you should be running, rather than putting yourself and your surviving men at risk."

"I think not," Hazar replied, shaking his head vigorously, as though the idea were abhorrent. "I am the King of Thieves. I do not give my word lightly, but when I do I make a habit of keeping it. I vowed to assist you in this fight, Kurzan, and I intend to honor that allegiance. Besides," the Thief Lord growled. "_We_have some unfinished business with that trollish brute and his flesh-eating companion. Blood calls for blood.

"Now come, quickly!" Hazar beckoned them to the length of rope that dangled beyond the ruined panes. "We must make haste to be away from here!"

Kurzan narrowed his eyes as he grasped the proffered line, but then he swallowed what precious little remained of his pride before forcing the words between gritted fangs.

"I am…_grateful_for your assistance."

"Now was that so hard?" Hazar winked smarmily.

"Yes," Kurzan told him flatly. "You have _no idea_how hard it was."

"Well, it's the thought that counts," the Thief Lord shrugged magnanimously. "And I do appreciate you saying that."

"Good, because you _won't_be hearing it again," the assassin retorted, his furry hand extending to grab Katrina securely by the waist before beginning his ascent.

The princess turned a deep shade of scarlet at the sudden and rather…_intimate_contact, but nevertheless she wrapped her arms securely around Kurzan's neck to further assure her safety during the climb.

The assassin's nose promptly began to bleed.

Hazar fought to stifle the round of ribald laughter that bubbled in his throat as he, too, latched onto the thick woven hemp, and no sooner had Caesar and the rest of the thieves solidified their collective grip upon the sturdy rope than the Thief Lord gave the line a sharp tug.

That was the signal. Like fish on a line, the remnants of the once-numerous Court of Rogues reeled both their companions and their reluctant allies to the vast, tiled roof of the Imperial Palace.

Hazar, flushed with the thrill of pulling off such a feat of derring-do, gave Katrina a sly wink as he headed to the rooftop's edge.

"What…What are you doing?" the princess gasped.

Hazar could not conceal his glee, and his voice as playful as a thoroughly exasperated Kurzan rolled his eyes.

"Did you really think we were going to take a _road_out of the city? Perish the thought!"

A/N: I do believe I have created a monster in Sargeras. But will our heroes ever manage to restore Caesar to the throne and stop the arch-villain? Will they be able to get past Sargeras's minions, the Fell Blades? And will Kurzan and Katrina _ever_admit their feelings? Find out in coming installments! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. Wow, two updates in one day! A new personal best! XD


	12. Chapter 12

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque.

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 12: Hope and Despair

_Somewhere…_

Duty.

It was a sense of duty, more than anything else, which had for almost four years determined how Kurzan Vortigern lived his life. It was his loyalty to Master, and to Katrina, that had given the mutant a _purpose _in his young life, a drive and sense of self that he had never had before. In the years since coming into the Emperor's thrall, Kurzan had used this to forge himself into the perfect soldier, utterly implacable, completely merciless and, above all, else, loyal even unto death.

The only downside of having such an iron-clad and scrupulous faithfulness was that the young mutant could not bear failure.

To be hewn with a sword or slashed with an axe was of little concern to Kurzan. After all, one can only be injured with weapons of steel so many times before he becomes dulled to the pain. The assassin had spent most of his life thus far in pain and physical discomfort; any blade forged by human hands could not intimidate him.

But to fail…To fall short in the execution of his duties…

That was more than Kurzan Vortigern could bear.

For all his extraordinary skill, for all his exceptional fighting prowess, and in spite of the assassin's thoroughness in weeding out Caesar's enemies, Rome had fallen to the machinations of Sargeras and the Black Legion.

There was no written word or spoken vowel which would serve to adequately describe how _devastated _Kurzan felt as he wandered, with an unsteady gait, away from the flickering campfire around which his companions had gathered. Into the darkness of the surrounding Italian forest he went, his golden eyes glazed over almost like those of a corpse, and when the assassin had determined that he was now alone, he slowly reached for the blackened swords that lay balefully in their sheaths.

There was only one option available to him now, in light of the catastrophic events which had been set in motion. There was only one thing to do if Kurzan hoped to free himself, and Katrina, of the stain of his failure.

Duty demanded it.

Kurzan Vortigern, like the warriors of old, was going to kill himself.

He did not deserve Katrina, Kurzan thought silently. How could he continue to protect her, when rogues and villains could plot right under his nose? How could he look her in the eye as he once did, with the knowledge of how thoroughly he'd let her down?

How could Katrina love him, in light of what had happened?

The princess deserved better than one such as he.

The swords gave a hollow, grating rasp as Kurzan drew them from their scabbards, and as he knelt, Kurzan leaned forward slightly and placed the keen-edged weapons underneath his chest.

_Let it be finished, _he thought mournfully, tensing momentarily-

"I hate to ruin your pity party," a voice said from somewhere to Kurzan's left caused the mutant to glace up. "But may I ask, with all possible respect…Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kurzan's resolve faltered for a moment as the Thief Lord, Hazar, arched a delicately trimmed eyebrow before leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree. "So is that it, then? Just like that, you're going to give up?" Hazar continued. "That doesn't sound like you, Kurzan; you were never one to take the easy way out."

"It is the price I am bound by my oath to pay," Kurzan replied hoarsely.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, get a hold of yourself!" Hazar snapped, his tone turning harsh as he marched over to him. "Are you really so eager to die, now that you have a reason to finally start _living_? I am not _blind, _Kurzan Vortigern; I have _seen_ the way you and the princess look at each other! Are you willing to sacrifice what you could have with her to satisfy your sense of self-worth? How do you think _Katrina _would feel, knowing that you willingly slew yourself? Your passing would be more painful to her than anyone else! _Think _about what you're doing! Are you still so willing to perish, knowing that your actions would fill her with grief and despair for the rest of her days? _What is __wrong __with you?_

"You have never been a coward, Hand of the Emperor," Hazar finished. "And yet, at the very moment you are needed most, you choose the coward's way. The Empire needs you. _Katrina_ needs you."

"There _is_ no Empire anymore," Kurzan murmured. "Why keep fighting, when there is no hope?"

"There is still hope, so long as we still live," Hazar refuted him. "To be honest, I rather envy the sense of loyalty you have. I have never owed fealty to anything other than money, you know; that is and shall ever remain my greatest weakness. But you, on the other hand, _you _fight for something greater, something larger than yourself.

"I am not here to hinder or stop you," The King of Thieves finished softly as he took his leave. "Decide your fate. Do what you will. All I ask is that you think of _her _before you come to a decision."

Alone again, Kurzan sighed deeply and stared at the twin blades in his palms for what seemed to be an interminably long moment.

Then he stood and silently followed Hazar back to the small encampment, guided by the muted orange glow of the flickering fire. The dancing flames reflected the amber pools of Kurzan's intense gaze as he emerged into the open, and he nodded once, briefly, in the Thief Lord's direction.

The message between the two men was unspoken but implicitly understood.

Katrina glanced up at the sound of his footsteps. "Where were you?" she asked simply, her tone aloof and somewhat cold.

The assassin's face turned crimson, and something inside him wanted to curl up and die at how…_angry _she seemed. "I…Uh…"

"He was just letting off some steam, my lady," Hazar put in, coming swiftly to Kurzan's rescue. "And now that we're all present and accounted for, I believe it would be wise for us to formulate a plan of action."

"And to what end?" Caesar replied. "Sargeras has already pulled my throne out from under me!"

"_Sargeras?" _Katrina gasped. "The healer? _He's _the one behind this? Why would he do such a thing?"

"I wish I knew," the Emperor sagged wearily. "And how he was able to keep his true motivations hidden is beyond me."

"It matters not how or why this Sargeras fellow has turned against you," Hazar shook his head. "The question is, what will we do now that he has?"

All eyes turned to Kurzan, and he felt rather uncomfortable at being put in the spotlight so suddenly. But he didn't want to make himself seem unsure in front of Katrina, so he swallowed his anxiety and thought for a moment before finally opening his mouth.

"There is an old saying: cut off the head of the snake, and the snake will die. That principle holds true in our situation, my lord. If these people are to be stopped, we must kill Sargeras. I've seen his type before: he alone holds his network together, and without him, the conspirators will become disorganized."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" one of Hazar's men inquired. "Sargeras is guarded by his lackeys, the Six Fell Blades, _and _he holds the city of Rome with an entire army to oversee its defenses. We can't go after him straight-on! We are too few in number; he'd annihilate us!"

"Exactly," Kurzan nodded, turning to Caesar. "You _must _call for aid, my lord."

A bitter smile crossed Caesar's face. "And who would come? There are none left alive in the wake of Sargeras's purge that would still hold loyal to me!"

"That's not true," Hazar cut him off abruptly.

"Oh, really?" The Emperor made no attempt to hide his skepticism.

"Your Senators and generals may have turned on you, but you still command the hearts of your people," Hazar elaborated. "Do you not think they chafe under Sargeras's regime? Unlike you, he rules not through efficiency or benevolence, but through fear and domination. The common men are afraid of him, and it is only through terror that he commands their loyalty. But if you show them that you still live, if you make them _believe _that there is still hope, then they _will _answer a call to arms."

"And even if they did, what then?" Caesar demanded. "Am I to march on Rome with an army of farmers, stable-boys and merchants? Those who would come to fight are not trained soldiers, and even _with _their help Sargeras's men would _still _outnumber us! We would ride to war, but not to victory!"

"You don't need to win," Kurzan told him. "You just need to keep Sargeras and his followers busy long enough for Hazar, his men and I to sneak into Rome. Having you show up at Rome's gates will certainly get Sargeras' attention, for he still needs to kill you to make his rule absolute. He will not pass up the chance to tie up loose ends, and while he is focused on _you_, _we _will infiltrate the palace and put an end to Sargeras once and for all. Then we will open Rome's gates and let you and your army inside."

"There's still the matter of _Sargeras's_ army," Katrina pointed out. "They will continue to fight."

Kurzan shook his head. "No, they won't," he said firmly. "They're all cowards at heart, vultures who threw their lot in with Sargeras at the prospect of an easy victory. News of his death will take the starch out of them."

"And what of the Blades?" another thief asked. "They protect him."

Hazar's gaze turned steely. "Leave them to us, Kurzan. I still have an account to even with that scum."

"You can have that claim, save for their leader, Radagast," Kurzan growled low in his throat. "His life is mine, and no other's."

Hazar, apparently acceding to this condition, tapped his chin thoughtfully before changing the subject. "Kurzan, what you are proposing is a ridiculously hazardous plan with almost no chance of succeeding."

The Thief Lord's proclamation was greeted with stunned silence before Hazar's face then split into a huge grin. "I say we do it!"

"That's not up to you," Kurzan told him irritably, but his tone was only there to disguise the fact that he was grateful to Hazar for setting him straight and saving him face with Katrina.

All eyes turned to the Emperor, and the dancing shadows of the fire darkened Caesar's face before he took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Well, nothing's going to get done if we stay in hiding. I suppose I'd rather die an Emperor than a fugitive. We will set out tomorrow to begin gathering our forces, provided the thieves can acquire some horses for us."

"It's as good as done," Hazar gave the Emperor a snarky wink.

"We should all get some rest," Kurzan stated, getting up and heading into the trees once more. "I'll take first watch."

The mutant disappeared into the thicket, and so hasty was his exit that he never saw Katrina turn to follow him once she made sure that her uncle was not watching…

_Meanwhile…_

It was upon a hill, overlooking the campsite and much of the surrounding area, where Kurzan Vortigern took up his position. The soft, dark loam, liberally carpeted with a layer of last autumn's leaves, crunched under his weight as he took a comfortable seat upon the ground.

It was peaceful here, almost unnaturally so. Rays of soft moonlight filtered through the treetops in a web of silvery shafts, and far above the woven branches the thin, crescent-like sliver of the waning moon shone with pale, eerie luminescence against a backdrop of thousands of glittering stars. The air hummed softly with the buzz of fireflies, and the insects resembled tiny wisps of flame as they fluttered here and there. The world was silent in the embrace of the nocturnal hours, save for the hooting of a solitary owl or the croaking of a distant frog, and Kurzan felt his entire body slump with some bone-deep weariness.

A harsh, rattling breath issued from between his elongated fangs, and in defiance of the guard duty that had drawn him up here, Kurzan's brain used the solitude of this location to dwell upon Katrina.

The young mutant had not forgotten how hurt she had seemed back in Rome, when he'd stated that his motivations for rescuing her had been purely professional. Kurzan's heart wrenched at the memory of how Katrina's lovely, beautiful face had fallen with disappointment, and he did not doubt that this was why Katrina was acting so distant around him.

_Even if I could tell her…will she even __believe__ me now?_

Some part of his brain that remained lucid enough to retain its cognitive functions dimly realized, albeit belatedly, the feeling that had plagued Kurzan's dreams and waking thoughts for what it truly _was._

It was _love._

It was the same fathomless, limitless devotion that had for centuries inspired poets and craftsmen down through the ages, that timeless, and immortal thing that no war, conflict, or battle could destroy. This…_extraordinary _thing endured long after one's mortal body had crumbled to dust, that special, intimate, and unique connection that transcended the boundaries of life and death itself. _Love, _unrefined, raw, and _pure, _was what made Kurzan's heart beat for her, and so fiery and intense was his _need _for her that it outshone the sun on a bright midsummer's day.

Katrina was…_everything _to him. Kurzan wanted to be with her forever, to share all the rest of his days with her and grow old beside her.

Deep down, the young mutant knew that the princess was the only woman in all the Empire for him. It was to Katrina, and Katrina alone, that his heart belonged.

_CRACK._

A twig snapped under some unseen footstep, and Kurzan's wrists flashed to the hilts of his blades as the foliage to his left began to shake ponderously.

The cold, remorseless pieces of metal were already halfway drawn when none other than Katrina Placidae herself emerged from the shrubbery. The lavender dress she wore rippled in a freshening wind as she glanced awkwardly away, and the princess smoothed a strand of soft hair away from her eyes as leaves swirled around her ankles.

Kurzan, embarrassed and surprised, hastened to put his weapons away. "My lady," he said, bowing. "I…I did not expect to see you here."

"I couldn't sleep," Katrina murmured.

Kurzan felt something wither and die inside of him at how uncomfortable she seemed in his presence. "Might your servant ask why?" he asked, keeping his tone respectful.

The princess's voice cracked. "It's you."

The mutant's golden eyes widened in shock. "W-what?"

"I cannot be at ease," Katrina admitted, "because of you. Because I don't know…how you feel about me. What you said….back in the city...Am I so unimportant to you?"

If Kurzan had been a piece of glass, he would have shattered at how _sad _Katrina looked. "No! Of course not!" he said automatically. Kurzan would have done or said anything if it meant putting her mind at rest.

"Then why say otherwise?"

"_Because Master was there,"_ Kurzan told her hoarsely, his vision blurring with unshed tears. "And even if he wasn't, I would not know how to say it."

Realization hit Katrina like a runaway truck. In denying any interest in the princess, Kurzan had been trying to protect her.

After a moment's silence, she stepped in close to him and, gazing up at Kurzan's face, locked the assassin's gaze in her own. "Uncle is not here now," Katrina whispered.

Kurzan tried to turn his head away. "But…Master would not approve. He would not want-"

Any further speech was cut when the princess gently cupped his chin and slowly, ever so slowly, brought his face close to her own. "What do _you _want?"

Kurzan, thoroughly under Katrina's spell, lifted a shaking hand and, with almost endearing hesitation, drew a single, furry digit down the length of her cheek.

When he finally worked up the courage to speak, his voice was as raw as an uncooked steak.

"I want…to be…with _you_…"

Then, awkwardly, cautiously, Kurzan Vortigern leaned in close and kissed her, all thoughts of propriety and social standing utterly forgotten.

Katrina's eyes widened in shock for just a second, but then she closed them dreamily as she unconsciously snaked her arms around his neck. Kurzan's strong arms pulled her in close, so close that each could feel the beating of the other's heart, and Katrina felt her knees grow weak as her senses swam. Her cheeks flushed red as she deepened the embrace, and she was thrilled to see Kurzan respond in kind.

The assassin, for his part, felt as though his heart had been given a set of angel's wings. _Love _washed over him in an all-consuming tide, eating him up with an almost primal _need _for her, and Kurzan's brain began to short-circuit as he reveled at how _soft _and _gentle, _how beautiful and sweet and kind and so, so _perfect _she was. His heart ached with the fire that now burned therein, the flames of passion and love fanning higher and higher with each passing second until all that Kurzan could think about was _her._

For one, crystalline, shining moment, all thoughts of murder, war and battle were totally forgotten. The world, _Kurzan's _world, consisted only of Katrina. There was no room for anything or anyone else.

The way she embraced him, the way her heart beat in tandem with his…

It made him so _happy, _to know that, after years of suffering and hardship, Kurzan Vortigern was _loved, _and loved another in return.

For a moment, Kurzan's golden eyes opened before the overwhelming cornucopia of emotions closed them again. Neither of them _ever _wanted this moment to end.

Under the fading trees, beneath the carpet of shimmering stars, one thought above all else filled every pore of the young mutant's body.

_Katrina…_

A/N: D'AWWWW! Isn't that sweet? *Sniff* Brings a tear to my eye, to be perfectly honest! The next chapter will probably be rather short, but trust me when I say that I have BIG things planned for the climax in Chapter Fourteen! The final battle will probably be a little bit of a doozy for me to write, though, so after Chapter 13 is up it may take me a few days to get it done. ^^ I ask and thank you all for your understanding in this, and I promise you that your patience will NOT go unrewarded.

And I always keep my word…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. By the way, today's my birthday! ^^


	13. Chapter 13

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 13: To War

"_The board is set. The pieces are moving…" Gandalf the White, "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003)._

_Prologue_

_The Italian countryside…one month ago…_

_The horse upon which Caesar Augustus sat whinnied restlessly, its hooves pawing the ground in anxiety as its master halted in front of the assembled collection of farmers and villagers. The men, women and children who populated the tiny farming community where the Emperor and his companions found themselves were no different than the dozens and scores whose communities they had already ridden through in their call for aid. It was with ordinary men such as these the Emperor and his companions had begun swelling their ranks. _

_Hazar had been correct. Word had begun to spread of what the Emperor was doing, and, gradually at first, the citizens of the Empire had answered their monarch's plea. Even as he, Kurzan, and the others galloped through the Roman hills and mountains, men continue to pour into Caesar's encampment from near and far. Hunters from Gaul, tribesmen from Lombardy, trappers from Saxony and even a hundred men from as far away as Britain came like swarms of angry hornets as whispers grew of a great campaign to reclaim the Emperor's dominion._

"_Citizens of Rome!" he cried. "I come not to conquer, but to liberate! Sargeras has persecuted _our _people, ransacked our city and stained the soil of the Empire with our blood! Who has among you has not suffered under his heel?"_

_Murmurs of assent greeted this proclamation, and Caesar grew hopeful as he continued, "Our capital was put to the torch, almost burned! Even now, her people starve and chafe under the tyrant's rule! Do we leave the Empire to its fate? Are we so meek and pitiful that we would submit to the reign of one such as Sargeras?"_

_A concerted roar came back. "NO!"_

_The Emperor's voice reached fever pitch. "I ride for Rome, to reclaim __our __home, the city of __our__ fathers! Is there anyone here who will ride with me? Is there any man among you who holds his country dear?"_

_Sudden silence overcame the commoners, and the air hung thick with a pall of silence as they realized what Caesar was asking them to do. The entire community was absolutely still, but then one man, a grizzled trapper with weather-beaten skin and sharp eyes, came forward from the crowd and looked at his fellows._

"_I'm with you," he said, his voice heavy with a rolling country drawl. "And so would the rest of you lot if'n ya've got any sense! Things around 'ere 'ave gone straight down th'gutter since Sargeras came along!"_

_The man must have been respected by his constituents or held considerable influence among the villagers, for at his prompting another man, a bearded farmer, promptly kissed his wife goodbye and went to join the first recruit by Caesar's side. "My children will one day ask me what I did to help free our people, my love," he said quietly. "I would be ashamed if I were forced to say that I stood by and did nothing."_

_A third villager, his clothes ratty and his breath heavy with the reek of alcohol, shrugged haphazardly and came forth as well. "I ain't done a damn thing worth doin' in my entire life," he smirked. "I guess now's as good a time as any to start changin' that."_

_Still a fourth spat contemptuously into the ground. "There's nothin' for it, I guess. I may as well sign on too, 'cause everyone else seems to be doin' it an' I don' wanna be looked down on as a coward. Count me in."_

"_My father and his father fought for the Empire," a young lad, no more than eighteen, called out, coming forward as well. "And I shall be proud to carry on that legacy."_

_As hundreds had done before them in the preceding days and weeks, the men who eked out a hard-scrabble existence in this tiny village took up arms against the Black Legion._

_Katrina discreetly squeezed Kurzan's hand as she sat behind his saddle, a silent gesture of reassurance that sent a furious blush spreading across his blue cheeks._

"_Hope is kindled," she murmured._

_Now…_

The orange glow of a roaring fire tinted the glass panes of the highest tower of the Imperial Palace, and within his fortress the diabolical Sargeras let out a furious, angry yell as he sent an assortment of dishes and dinnerware crashing to the floor with a great sweep of his arm. So intense was his wrath that his minions, the Fell Blades, took a precautionary step backward as the Lord of the Black Legion gave voice to his frustration.

"What do you _mean_, you cannot find him?" Sargeras hissed. "The man is Caesar Augustus, for heaven's sake! He cannot just up and _disappear_ like this, not when every person in the Empire knows his face!"

"Why worry?" Radagast asked, his tone calm. "He holds no power anymore."

"You seem to have forgotten that this is _your _fault, you spineless idiot," the evil one hissed. "If you had been more vigilant during the purge, Caesar would not have been able to flee the city! It is due to the incompetence of _you _and your cronies that I find myself in a very difficult position, for as long as Caesar lives, there might yet be some who would rally behind him to challenge me!"

"Locating Caesar is turning out to be…more difficult than we anticipated," Radagast admitted reluctantly. "The people may be sheltering him."

"So kill them! That's what I'm paying you for!" Sargeras cried. "Start with Rome's lower district! Murder ten people for each day that the Emperor is not surrendered to me, starting tonight! I'll bet the unwashed masses will not be so keen to defy _my _rule when I hang them in gibbets for the sport of carrion birds!"

Radagast caressed the edges of his twin sabers lovingly. "I would be happy to," he purred, his brain already anticipating the bloodletting that was to come. "Maybe Grenza can have his fill of the children when I'm done carving them into-"

_BAROOOMBAROOOOOOOOM!_

The deep, bass call of a rider's horn cut off the sinister conversation quite rapidly, and a wrathful expression twisted the old man's face into a mask of hate and malice as he rushed to the nearest window.

What he saw stole the very warmth of his blood away.

The Roman banner, a crimson standard emblazoned with the symbol of a screeching eagle, fluttered in a freshening wind as Caesar and all his host marched slowly and deliberately toward the walls of Rome. Like a great tide of scarlet they spilled from every direction, armed with a motley assortment of weapons and sharp-edged farming implements such as scythes and pitchforks. Massive drums of animal skin, bigger around than a man was tall, made the air throb with their remorseless beat, and the deafening roll of thunder produced by the monstrous instruments was so terrifying that it drove the birds from the trees. Though in reality their numbers were far fewer than those of the Legion, to the stunned Sargeras the army of Caesar seemed to be more numerous than leaves upon the autumn wind. In their scores and tens of scores they came in rank upon rank of iron helmets and bristling spears, and with them they carried a battering ram so massive that only the strongest and most fit of the makeshift soldiers could bear its girth. The mighty siege weapon had been hewn from the great trunk of some ancient forest giant, and all the while the ragtag army raised a fearsome chant in between the drums' ever-growing beat.

"ALL HAIL!"

"_CAE-SAR!"_

_BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!_

"ALL HAIL!"

"_CAE-SAR!"_

_BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!_

"ALL HAIL!"

"_CAE-SAR!"_

"ALL HAIL!"

"_CAE-SAR!"_

"ALL HAIL!"

"_CAE-SAR!"_

_BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!_

From his vantage point above the city, Sargeras gripped the railing so hard that the wooden banister splintered with a _sickening _crack.

"It's... not possible…"

A/N: Yes, I know it's a short chapter, but this was really just a precursor that I needed to crank out before climax of this story in chapter fourteen. XD And the climax it shall be, for the final battle of "The Emperor's Hand" looms on the horizon! And PLEASE review! If you have ANY ideas, LET ME KNOW!

I will say, one more time, that I've got some big, BIG things planned for chapter 14, and thus it might take me longer than usual to write it. I think it would be safe to say that it could well take me until next weekend to get the whole thing done, so I ask you all to please be patient. (Trust me, it's gonna be AWESOME! I'm getting all tingly just thinking about it! XD)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. I apologize also for the false alarm for ch. 14 that some of you may have gotten. I was replacing some content and hit the "add chapter" button by accident. My bad, guys. XD


	14. Chapter 14

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 14: The Empire Strikes Back

Sargera's robes threatened to trip him and send him sprawling as he hurtled down the stone corridor, and with a might shove he sent the doors of the Imperial Palace bursting open before grabbing one of his henchmen and shaking him soundly.

"Sound the alarm!" he shouted in the man's face. "We're under attack! Get to your posts, _now!_ I want archers and pikemen up on the walltops, understand? We cannot let them breach the outer defenses! Go, go, _go!"_

The startled Legionnaire gave a hasty salute, and no sooner had he begun to relay his overlord's commands than the city of Rome started to resemble an upturned anthill. Soldiers scurried to and fro, buckling on swords and shields, ascending the walls in a thunderous cacophony of tramping feet and clanking armor. Quivers of deadly, barbed arrow shafts were snatched hastily on the go as dozens of archers formed up behind the battlements, and the air was thick with the straining of bow-strings as the Black Legion took aim at the approaching Imperial forces.

_Meanwhile…_

The drums of war continued their ceaseless, jarring throb as the Imperial forces closed in around the Eternal City like the claws of a mighty crab, and the white stallion upon which the Emperor sat rolled its head and turned its eyes upward whilst its rider nodded to the soldier nearest him.

"Send these traitors into the abyss!" Caesar cried, raising his hand before swinging his arm downward swiftly. "OPEN FIRE!"

The officer whom the Emperor had addressed turned and raised his voice so all could hear him. "CATAPULTS!"

_SPROING!_

Somewhere on the Romans' left flank, one of the terrible siege engines released its pent-up energy with devastating effect, sending a massive, jagged piece of rubble hurtling on its way. The huge boulder whistling through the air, shrieking like a banshee before smashing into the city walls like great wrecking ball. Men were thrown screaming and broken into the air amidst a geyser of rubble as the deadly projectile hit home, and Caesar laughed aloud as the screams of the wounded reached his ears.

_SPROING!_

Again, from the center this time, Roman artillery sent an enormous piece of granite crashing into the ancient defenses of the Eternal City, ripping the stone and mortar apart like bread crust and leaving a massive, gaping hole in its wake. Bodies were crushed like toothpicks between its massive girth, and what remained of those caught in the missile's path was scarcely more than a bloody pulp.

_SPROING!_

From the right of the column, yet a third, terrible device added its own contribution to the slaughter, its wooden, vaguely spoon-shaped arm creaking audibly under the release of such massive strain. Its gigantic payload spun end over end before making thunderous contact with layers of brick upon which stood the ranks of the enemy, and bones were splintered like kindling sticks as the Black Legion felt the first taste of Caesar's wrath.

But devastating though the battle's opening salvo may have been, the Black Legion was not even close to giving up the fight. A man, clad in black armor and wearing the horsehair crest of an officer's rank upon his helmet, drew his blade and leveled it at the approaching Imperials.

"VOLLEY..._FIRE!"_

In perfect unison and in fine military fashion, the massed ranks of Black Legionnaires raised their bows to the sky and sent a rain of whizzing shafts sailing through the air. Over a hundred bowstrings gave a chorus of sharp, whip-like _cracks _as their wielders sent a rain of barbed arrows swarming toward the Roman ranks like a cloud of angry hornets. The hissing projectiles sailed over the parapets, rising to the clouds before dipping earthward to smite Caesar and his men like the finger of some angry god. Romans fell injured and dying, screeching as they were transfixed by the deadly shafts, and Imperials fell in twos and threes as the massed volley took its bloody toll. A man not three feet away from the Emperor grasped feebly at an arrow that had suddenly sprouted from his eyeball, trying to pull it out even as he collapsed and died, and Caesar grimaced as the lines of green troops threatened to break.

The Emperor, though, was made of sterner stuff. He had fought in countless battles before, when the need had arisen for him to lead the troops personally, and now the years of combat experience asserted themselves as Caesar kept his cool.

"STAND YOUR GROUND, MEN!" he roared, his steed galloping back and forth in front of his army. "REFORM THE LINE! LADDERS IN FRONT, ARCHERS BEHIND!"

The dissolving crimson lines promptly melded back into organized ranks at Caesar's urging, and tall climbing ladders of sturdy wood were hoisted onto dozens of shoulders as the Imperial bowmen ran to the forefront. Bowstrings of sinew groaned as they were quickly loaded and pulled taught, and the eyes in Caesar's head bulged as battle-fury overtook him.

"_RETURN FIRE!"_

With a great and terrible hiss, the Romans replied to the Black Legion's strike with alarming force. Feather-flighted, wooden arrows found many a mark amongst the men of Sargeras; Legionnaires toppled over the crenellations with agonized shrieks, swords and shields falling from their nerveless fingers before they expired on the ground below. Arrowheads punched holes in cuirasses and helmets as though they were made of paper-mache, and Caesar felt his chest swell with pride as he watched his men give as good as they received.

One of the Emperor's officers caught his eye, and a nod to his subordinate sent an unspoken yet clear order to the men who struggled, panting and red-faced, to load the catapults with a second round of gigantic boulders.

Caesar's roar was like that of an angry lion. "ALL PIECES…_FIRE!"_

_SPROING!_

Again, the defenses of Rome gave a collective, massive shudder under the impact of another lethal salvo from the Roman lines. Thick clouds of choking mortar dust obscured one's vision and stung his eyes as lethal sprays of stone shards were hurled in every direction, and all the while the walkways underfoot became slippery with gore.

_SPROING!_

Once more, an oversized slab of granite, this one scrawled with obscenities directed at the Romans' opponents, sent up an explosion of shattered brick and stone as it turned an already-sizeable breach in the upper wall into a gaping hole through which an eighteen-wheeler would have no trouble passing.

_SPROING!_

For a sixth time, the soldiers of Rome battered the walls of the city they held dear, and all the while the two forces continued to make the air thick with the volleys of barbed shafts that were steadily lobbed back and forth. Casualties mounted as Romans and Legionnaires alike fell slain and wounded, and the ferocity of the fighting grew ever more intense as the Imperial forces inched closer and closer to the city walls.

"SHIELDS UP!" The Emperor cried. "_SHIELDS UP!"_

With a swiftness that would have made any general envious, the Roman troops hurriedly brought their large, rectangular-shaped shields to bear in a military maneuver known as the "_testudo," _or "tortoise." It was a tactic that the Romans had popularized, developed specifically for sieges and attacking fortified positions: in it, the Romans soldiers in the front rank would bring their shields up in front, the columns in the middle would hoist their shields over their heads, and the soldiers on the flanks would bring _their_ shields around to cover the _sides _of their bodies. The effect was to create a mobile defense that the Romans could use while breaching or attacking the enemy, and as they went about this, any arrows, spears or lances hurled by the defenders would merely glance off of the burnished metal that protected them (hence the name).

Caesar's felt almost paternal affection bubble within him once more, for these men were functioning better as a cohesive military unit than he would have dared to hope. He made a mental note to ensure that every soldier who survived the battle was amply rewarded for his efforts, but now the Emperor's eyes turned flinty.

"_Bring the ram_," he snarled. "Break down the gate!"

A mighty roar issued forth from the Roman host at this latest order, and ranks of upturned shields parted momentarily to allow the monstrous log and its wielders through. The ram's end had been chiseled to a bluntly tapering point, and now the strong, sweating soldiers who carried it gave a cry of effort as they charged forth to weaken the mighty, oaken gates of Rome.

_THOOOM!_

The gigantic double doors caved inward slightly under the enormous force exerted upon them, and Caesar exulted in this before urging his men onward.

"LADDERS AWAY!" The Emperor bellowed, dismounting his horse and charging forth to personally help hoist one of the ladders upon his shoulders before planting it solidly in the ground. "UP OVER THE WALLS! _FOLLOW ME!"_

One by one, in quick and orderly succession, the tall siege weapons _thudded _solidly against the ruined battlements, and Caesar was the first to mount the wooden rungs as his men clambered up behind him_..._

Back at the palace, Sargeras struggled to control his rising temper, and when he was finally able to speak, his voice was so tight that it came out a harsh, bitter grate as he turned from the window to face Veeku the Sly. "Send forth all Legions and clear up this mess! Wipe out the Romans, _all of them! _Bring me Caesar's head on a pike, or there'll be the devil to pay!"

The Fell Blade was already gone, driven by the urgency of his mission, and his greaves clanked loudly as he rushed out of the palace. The Sly One clambered down the marble steps-

-But he never noticed the vengeful shadow of none other than Katrina Placidae sneaking up behind him. The young woman made nary a sound as she snuck up behind the unsuspecting Veeku, and the Blade uttered a muffled shout of surprise as her hand clapped over his mouth.

"My turn," Katrina growled, flipping her sword end over end like a marshal's batons before plunging it into Veeku's chest with a sickening _squelch. _

Blood spilled over the Sly One's lips, leaking from in between the princess's fingers before he died with a final, gurgling, agonized moan.

The young woman turned to Hazar as the Thief Lord, with Kurzan in tow, landed behind him at the head of what was left of his once-mighty Court.

The King of Thieves gave a low whistle at the sight of Katrina's handiwork. "Damn," Hazar said simply. "Looks like this cat has claws."

"Do me a favor and lose the sense of humor," Kurzan growled.

"Do us _both _a favor and go buy one," the Thief Lord shot back childishly.

"The entrance is clear," Kurzan ignored Hazar's retort as he spoke while barely moving his lips. "Sargeras will most likely be holed in Master's throne room, along with Radagast, if my hunch is right. I-"

"_We," _Katrina corrected him.

"_-We _will go and eliminate them while you and your men keep the rest of the Blades occupied," Kurzan finished, his mind flashing back to how obstinately the princess had been that she accompany him to battle just before the attack began. "With Tala and Veeku dead, only Brezin, Grenza, and Vrael the Silent remain under Radagast's command," the assassin stated, turning to Hazar. "Brezin will not be difficult; he is a giant, but not very bright. You can outwit him easily, but it is Grenza and Vrael that you want to be wary around; the Savage One is well-named, as you know, and Vrael is almost as cunning and ruthless as Radagast himself."

"We'll handle it," Hazar snorted, his tone confident and strong as the group ascended the staircase. "Oh, and Kurzan-"

"What?" The mutant paused just before turning crossing over the palace threshold.

Hazar made a deliberate show of extending his hand to him. "Good luck," the Thief Lord said simply.

Kurzan stared at the proffered appendage for a moment, and a seemingly long silence passed before he looked Hazar in the eye.

Then, slowly, the assassin reached out his fingers and gave the Thief Lord's palm a firm shake.

"You too," The Emperor's Hand replied.

Hazar watched them go, and a wolfish smile split his normally handsome face as he delicately licked the tip of his long knife. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he asked. "Let's go say hello…"

_At the same time…_

Back on the battlefield, Caesar's scarlet cloak fluttered in his wake as he leapt from his perch and onto the walltop, his sword flashing from its sheath as more and more of his men clambered over the battlements behind him. The glittering blade in Caesar's palm seemed to shine with some unearthly light, and as he and his men began to breach Rome's defenses, the scale of the fighting became much more up-close and personal.

Steel rasped upon steel as the Emperor deflected a scything blow, sweeping away his opponent's blade and cleaving open the man's face before a swift, merciless kick sent him plummeting over the wall. Snatching his fallen enemy's sword, Caesar promptly caught a Legionaire's spear in an X-shaped block, and with a savage wrench the Emperor carved up the pole-arm's wooden haft as though it were made of sausage. The man gave a wet, gurgling sound as Caesar followed up with an upward thrust that plunged the sword through the Legionnaire's lower jaw and into his brain, and the Emperor's foe collapsed amidst a geyser of gore that spattered the cornices.

But Caesar did not even see it, for he had already turned to strike down the next man who dared to defy him. The Emperor jerked his torso sharply, twisting away from a lunging, leaf-shaped sword blade before plunging his own weapons deep into the man's armored chest. The cold steel of Caesar's swords bit through the metal plates and rivets as though they were made of butter, and the Emperor shoved the dying man's corpse to one side before slashing the throat of another who came to close. The stricken Legionnaire gasped wetly, clutching his ruined neck before falling to his death, and his body made a nauseating _crunch _as it hit the ground far below.

The Emperor was not just a regent, he was also a warrior, and now his lethal skills were put on full display as he sidestepped a charging Legionnaire and slew him with a deep laceration across the back that laid open the man's flesh and exposed his spine. The doomed Legionnaire staggered, twitching spasmodically, and Caesar took that moment to spear him through the neck. The Emperor impaled the man upon his weapon as one would harpoon a fish, and the hot spray of blood that spattered Caesar's face gave him a rather infernal and demented appearance as he yanked his blade free.

All along the ancient, venerable walls of the Roman capital the battle raged with a terrible and unholy clamor. The clashing of swords and shields mingled jarringly with the cries and shouts of men as they roared in triumph or screeched in agony, and this deafening cacophony was punctuated with the ever-present, sibilant hiss of arrows as they cut through the air. No mercy was given or asked for that day, and the blood of Romans and Legionnaires alike was spilled in the heat of the battle. So enormous was the sheer level of carnage that the stone parapets became slippery with blood, and the drab, gray stone from which the walls were hewn were ever-increasingly painted with scarlet splashes of crimson gore.

And, underneath it all, was the slow, thunderous pounding of the battering ram as it steadily reduced the great gates of Rome to splinters and dust.

From his vantage point high above the city walls, Sargeras watched in increasing unease as the fighting continued unabated. The arch-villain felt a nervous gulp forming in his throat, but traces of fear turned to sadistic glee as he saw the full might of the Black Legion, hundreds strong, pouring forth like a swarm of dark-colored ants to reinforce their beleaguered comrades.

It would not be long now, the old man snickered. Sooner or later, the Emperor and his cronies would be completely overwhelmed. Sargeras sighed happily and dementedly as he pictured Caesar's lousy head stuck on a pike outside the city gates…

The evil one's twisted daydream was interrupted when Radagast appeared at his employer's side.

"What is it?" Sargeras asked irritably. "Can't you see I'm enjoying the show?"

"I think the Hand of the Emperor has infiltrated the palace," Radagast told him bluntly. "Along with Hazar and what remains of his Court. Veeku is dead, by the way; his body was found outside the palace doors. It is possible the entire attack on the city was just a farce to allow the Hand to have a shot at you."

"And you think that concerns me?" Sargeras snapped. "Caesar has marched to his doom, see? He cannot last forever when he is so heavily outnumbered!"

"You don't know Kurzan like I do," Radagast's tone was devoid of emotion. "He could be trouble."

Sargeras turned back to the scene of the fighting, having seemed to grow bored with the conversation.

"Then take care of it. It's none of my concern."

Dead wrong, as it turned out. _Literally._

Because for any man under the sun, the prospect of a vengeful Kurzan Vortigern coming after him was _very much _a cause for the gravest concern.

And the assassin was _indeed _coming to even the score. Kurzan's veins boiled with fiery wrath that sent adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream and made his pulse pound in his ears, and his vision went red with the sheer _brunt _of his almost berserk fury. Kurzan wanted to _kill _Sargeras, kill him and rip him to pieces, and then have the arch-villain come back from the grave so he could kill him again. The blackened swords that the mutant held in his hands now called Sargeras's name as their keen edges cut through the air, and the mutant barreled down the corridor with Katrina in tow as new urgency for his mission overtook him.

Up, up a winding flight of marble stairs Kurzan went, his chest heaving with exertion as sweat beaded upon his brow. Katrina was hard-put to keep up with him as the assassin's pace grew ever more rushed and hurried, and Kurzan's tongue lolled around his oversized fangs like that of a prowling wolf as the and his beloved finally reached the banister's summit-

-And Katrina gasped in shock to find none other than Radagast the Cruel waiting for them, slouching against a nearby door with an almost casual air as he examined his fingernails. "I was wondering when you'd show up," the leader of the Fell Blades remarked, his twin, wickedly curved sabers rasping from their scabbards. "But then again, a dog is bound to follow his master, isn't he?"

"If I am a dog, then it is you who made me so," Kurzan replied quietly, bringing his own weapons up to bear. "You and all the rest of my so-called 'teachers' back in the arena, who beat me and kicked me for sport."

"I made you strong," Radagast snorted.

"No," Kurzan whispered. "No, you didn't. You tried to make me become a monster like _you._"

Radgast's scimitars glittered in the flickering torchlight. "I am merely what you never had the courage to be. I _am _you, Kurzan Vortigern, a glorious mirror-image unfettered and unchained by oaths or loyalties."

"You know nothing of courage," the mutant spat.

"And you know nothing at all," Radagast retorted, caressing the edges of his weapons. "Now…let it be finished."

"For once, Radagast," Kurzan grated through clenched fangs, balancing on the balls of his feet as the two men circled each other like rival jungle cats. "I completely agree with you."

For one, single, crystalline, moment, the two legendary fighters were absolutely still, and the air was so thick with the aura of an impending, bitter fight between Kurzan and his mortal foe that the princess felt an almost tangible electric charge make the skin on her arms break out into goose-bumps

Then the silence was broken, and the two sworn enemies lunged into the fray with at such great speed that their entire bodies were reduced to indistinct, shadowy blurs that hurtled across the corridor.

Sword and saber locked together with a clash of ringing metal, and Radgast's entire body spun like a giant top through the air as he leapt from the floor and descended upon the stalwart Kurzan, his weapon-laden arms scything downward as his blades windmilled like a tornado of steel. The mutant only just avoided having his forehead split in two by sidestepping the devastating blow, and the keen edges passed so close to Kurzan's face that he could see his reflection in them. To his credit, however, the young assassin recovered swiftly, and before Radagast had even finished descending to earth, a vicious swing from a blackened sword laid open a long, shallow cut down the length of the Fell One's outstretched arm. But Radagast did not even so much as pause to acknowledge his wound, and the double-edged scimitars he wielded rent and tore the flesh of Kurzan's upper torso with an upward swipe, cleaving two long, bloody furrows through the mutant's fur that stained the marble tile with droplets of crimson. Kurzan's heels made a screeching sound as he skidded backward, and he valiantly resisted the urge to clap a hand to his injury as he lunged toward his hated foe. The weapons of the Emperor's Hand cut audibly though the air as he aimed a decapitating blow at Radagast's face.

But the Fell Blades' leader was not one to be easily intimidated. With fluidity borne from countless practice, the pair of shining sabers formed an X-shape that trapped Kurzan's weapons with a thunderous clash that echoed through all the rooms of the Imperial Palace. It took only a swift, semicircular downward block for Radagast to easily push Kurzan's short swords aside-

-Whereupon Kurzan promptly reversed his grip and, sweeping his arm around again, sent a hard, disc-shaped pommel crashing into the side of Radagast's skull.

Stars and brightly colored spots exploded in the Fell One's vision, and Radagast staggered before lashing out blindly like an enraged bull. The keening metal that the villain clasped in his fists flayed open the skin of Kurzan's lower leg and lacerated his foot, and the assassin doubled over before landing a punishing blow to Radgast's solar plexus. The mutant's enemy gasped, spittle flying from his lips, and Kurzan's eyes widened in shock as the Fell Blades' leader lunged with his saber at point-blank range.

The only reason Kurzan was not skewered like a hog on a spit was because he narrowly sucked his stomach inward. The pitch-colored sword in Kurzan's palm came up under that of Radagast, sweeping it up and to the side with unnatural grace, and the ebon blades swept in a shrieking arc toward the villain's face-

_KRANG!_

Sword and saber met with an earsplitting ring of colliding steel, and Radgast snarled from between his teeth as his face came only inches away from that of his mortal enemy.

"You never _did _know how to pick your fights wisely, _boy_," the Fell One hissed.

"You will not live to see the dawn," Kurzan gritted back. "_That _I promise!"

_At the same time…_

Hazar, King of Thieves, had a look of absolute enjoyment on his face as he rolled to avoid a crushing blow from Brezin the Strong's enormous mace. The monstrous weapon demolished the floor stones where Hazar had stood a moment before, and the Thief Lord winked as he thumbed his nose cheekily at his enemy.

"You're going to have to move faster than that, you ugly son of a troll," Hazar taunted the giant.

Grenza the Savage, leaping onto Brezin's shoulder, snarled like a rabid dog as his chain swirled about his neck, throwing himself with inhuman ferocity at the Thief Lord and his men. Like a hound bursting from the gates of howling Hell itself, the psychopath hissed between misshapen teeth that he had filed to jagged points. The great, stained and rusted cleaver that Grenza had chosen as his weapon _thudded_ dully into the neck of a thief who'd happened to be too close, and so powerful was the blow that Hazar's companion was nearly decapitated on the spot. The slain rogue slumped amidst a geyser of crimson, and Hazar brought his knives up to meet this new threat-

-Only to cry out in surprise as a metal chain, tipped with a curved sickle-blade, wrapped around his ankle and jerked his legs out from under him.

Vrael, the Silent Blade, grinned in wordless malice at the sight of Hazar's consternation, and the long, whirling, spike-studded chain-scythe that he held in his fingers lashed out skillfully with a whip-like, earsplitting _crack _to split Hazar's head in two.

But the King of Thieves was more cunning than any man alive, save perhaps for Kurzan. Hazar rolled like a log to avoid being cut in half, and he leapt to his feet before neatly catching Vrael's weapon in a tightly curled fist. Vrael's eyes became as big as dinner plates as they widened in panic, and Hazar smiled quite cordially as he gave the weapon a mighty _pull._

"Payback's just a _bitch_, isn't it?"

Vrael felt his feet leave the ground as the force of Hazar's tug jerked him forward, and the last thing he ever saw was the tip of the Thief Lord's dagger speeding toward his right eyeball.

The slain Vrael collapsed, his face oozing blood and white, viscous fluid from the punctured ocular organ, and Hazar callously wiped his weapon on the Fell Blade's corpse before a scream caused him to turn around.

One of the few remaining thieves cried out in shock and fear as Grenza barreled into him, pinning him beneath his feral bulk as the Savage Blade raised his cleaver-

-Hazar's brain spun into overdrive, and he recalled Kurzan's parting advice on Brezin's conspicuous lack of cognitive abilities. The clever Thief Lord immediately saw a way to use this to his advantage, and a sharp, piercing whistle escaped Hazar's lips as he frantically tried to gain the hulking man's attention.

"Hey! You with the berserk pituitary gland! Your mother was a forest troll!" Hazar taunted.

Though Brezin was certainly dim, even one so slow as he could not miss such an obvious insult. The giant's brutish face contorted with fury, and he lumbered toward Hazar with a hateful-expression. The hulking, menacing shadow of Brezin's enormous girth fell over Hazar, and the King of Thieves hurriedly scavenged Vrael's fallen chain as the massive mace swung downward. A lucky shot caused the clanking links of wrought iron to wrap around Grenza's foot, and the psychopath let out a startled yell as a mighty yank sent him flying across the slippery tiles. Hazar leapt wildly out of the way as Brezin's weapon descended-

-Only to squash the stunned Grenza like an insect as Brezin's brother occupied the spot where Hazar had stood not two seconds before. A mighty _squelch _was heard as the murderous cannibal was pounded into a bloody pulp of torn skin and shattered bones, and Hazar let his arms dangle at his sides as he ran _up _the brute's extended wrist and somersaulted onto Brezin's back, wrapping his arms around the giant's neck before swiftly plunging his dagger into the back of the brute's skull. The narrow, double-edged blade pierced the skin cleanly, severing the brain from the spinal cord with surgical precision and slaying Brezin the Strong instantly.

The dimwitted Fell Blade toppled like a fallen tree, and Hazar's knives spun round and round in his grip before returning swiftly to the sheaths on his waist.

"And _stay down_," the Thief Lord said, sticking his tongue out petulantly Brezin's corpse.

_Meanwhile…_

Atop the carcass-strewn walls of Rome, the pressure was on for Caesar and his troops. Reinforcements had arrived with overwhelming strength to reinforce the Black Legion troops some moments before, and now the number of Imperial soldiers storming the fortifications had slowed to a trickle in the face of such staunch resistance. Though the enormous log had been hammering away at the city gates for some time now, Caesar knew that if the oaken double doors were not battered down soon, his force would be routed. The irony was that the Emperor himself had seen to it that the doors of the Eternal City be built of the rarest and strongest wood that could be found, and now Caesar's own tendency for tight security was beginning to work against him.

Wounded in over a dozen places, his armor scored and scratched, and the red crest of his helmet slightly askew, Caesar drew a deep breath before coming to a swift decision. "Well, if you want something done right…"

Without warning, the Emperor threw himself with renewed vigor into the Legion's ranks, his sword hacking and slashing with all the unbridled, primal fury of a Viking berserker. Men fell before Caesar's unexpected onslaught like ninepins as the monarch slaughtered and butchered his way to the blood-strewn steps that led down from the walkway. The Emperor snarled as his blade carved open the cheek of the nearest Legionnaire, and with utter disregard for safety, Caesar heaved the shrieking man's entire body over his head before smiting his ruin upon the unforgiving stones. The stricken soldier's corpse acted like a macabre bowling ball, carving a swathe through the packed ranks of the enemy that had until now barred the Emperor's way. His route now temporarily clear, Caesar ran down stairwell, careful not to lose his footing in the gore, and his ragged, crimson cloak fluttered about his ankles as he leapt nimbly to the ground. Caesar's eyes burned with some unnerving light as he gazed balefully at the heavy, square-shaped wooden bar that held the city gates firm, and he raised his bloodied sword over his head before bringing it down with all the strength yet left in his body.

The bar was promptly severed entirely in half under the force of such a great and mighty swing, and Caesar's grin was bigger than a peeled banana as he threw the doors of Rome wide open to admit his liberating troops. Like a massive tsunami of roaring voices and scalpel-edged steel, the Roman Army poured into Caesar's capital and began to rout the wavering Legion.

"…Do it yourself."

_Back in the palace…_

The fight between Kurzan and his nemesis, Radgast the Cruel, seemed to be going nowhere fast. So evenly matched were they in skill and lethality that neither had claimed the advantage over his opponent, and both men's bodies bore so many slashes and rips from cleaving swords that they looked like nothing more than corpses which had been carelessly stitched together. The Hand of the Emperor and the one man who could hope to match him seemed to be intent on slowly cutting each other to pieces.

Radagast's face twisted into a mask of malice as he and Kurzan Vortigern clashed yet again, his eyes wild with the force of his hate as he made to cleave his enemy into longitudes with a devastating, upward slash to the belly, but Kurzan neatly parried the blow with the flat of his blade before the mutant made to cleave Radagast's skull in half. But the villain had only to dart to one side to avoid the intended death-strike, and the Cruel One's lips peeled back in a sneer as the force of Kurzan's swipe carried his blade almost to the floor. Radagast lunged, making as if to decapitate Kurzan, but the young assassin leapt out of the sabers' intended path and lashed out with his whip-like tail. The stinging, prehensile appendage left an angry red welt as it made painful contact with Radagast's face, and the Fell Blades's leader howled in pain and fury as he landed a blind, punishing kick to Kurzan's ribs.

Kurzan's entire form shook as the villain's boot threatened to crush his ribcage, and the assassin retched blood as he brought the smeared tips of his _gladius _blades to bear against Radagast's freshening onslaught. Razor-edged steel rasped and hissed together as the two fighters continued their epic death match, parrying, thrusting and slashing as the singing steel provided an eerie beat to the dance of death, and Kurzan's sword pierced the flesh of Radagast's upper thigh even as one of the villain's curved sabers bit deeply into the muscle of his bicep. One of Kurzan's swords fell from his limp grasp, clattering to the ruined tile as lightning bolts of white-hot pain shot across his injured arm. Blood began to pool around the torn sleeve of Kurzan's tunic whilst the mutant hissed in pain, and Radagast licked blood from his weapon with relish before he drove his elbow into Kurzan's jaw. But even as the jarring blow loosened a tooth in the young man's mouth, Kurzan turned his head with the strike and almost sliced Radgast's entire left cheek in two. The assassin's weapon cut so deep that one could _see_ the bones that connected Radagast's upper and lower jaw, and blood spattered the marble columns in a great wave before the evil-doer staggered and, overridden by instinct, vainly tried to staunch the bleeding with his palm.

Kurzan saw the opening, and he did not hesitated to exploit it. Even as Radagast's evil face contorted with agony, the mutant launched himself into the air with desperate fury and blindsided the stunned villain like a runaway train. The two scimitars that had been used to take countless lives were sent skittering along the bloodstained floor and out their wielder's reach, and Kurzan planted his foot firmly on Radgast's chest as he clutched his remaining weapon in a double-handed grip, its ebony, needle-like point hovering over the heart of his foe.

Radagast, speechless with terror as his cowardly nature came to the fore, writhed under Kurzan's heel, his mouth opened in silent horror as he saw his death lying before him.

"You never realized," Kurzan told him harshly, nodding to Katrina, "That what makes me different from scum like you…_is her._ Go to Hellgates and _burn_, Radagast."

_SHUNK._

The pitch-colored metal descended as swiftly as the Grim Reaper's sickle, slicing so deeply through the killer's chest that the scalpel-edged steel embedded itself in the marble floor upon which he lay.

And thus did Radagast the Cruel and all his infinite malice die!

It took several heaving tugs for Kurzan to finally dislodge the sword from his foe's mutilated corpse, and his breathing was ragged and coarse as he bent to retrieve the black weapon's twin.

Katrina, true to her innate gentility, hurried to her beloved's side. "Are you all right?" she murmured, her eyes worried.

"I'll live," Kurzan replied, his expression as dark as a rumbling thundercloud. "But we must see to it that Sargeras does not."

Katrina gripped his bleeding and lacerated hand. "Then let us be rid of him!"

_Meanwhile…_

Sargeras, Lord of the Black Legion, quite literally could not believe what he was seeing. Despite the astronomical odds, despite the fact that his followers held the advantage in strength of arms, and in spite of the archvillain's own expectations, the Roman Army had breached the city's outer defenses! Sargeras felt the icy, tingling fist of fear close around his heart as he watched the Imperial forces storming into the city, and his evil, shriveled heart began to beat faster as the peril of his position was made starkly clear.

Years of planning, of scheming and plotting and setting up the dominoes to fall in just such an order had been undone in the course of a single evening. For all his masterful cunning and Machiavellian tendencies, Sargeras could never have anticipated _this._

No matter how astronomical the chances of such a thing occurring may have been, the truth of the matter was simple and bleak.

The Black Legion had lost.

_Sargeras…_had lost.

The old man took a moment to curse Caesar under his breath one final time before turning from the window in a bid to escape the city unseen, searching desperately, wildly, for any route to freedom that may have presented itself. Sargeras's fine robes, purloined from the Emperor's wardrobe, flew behind him like brightly colored streamers as he rushed pell-mell for the door.

The archvillain's gnarled hand had almost grasped the ornate, gilded knob before Kurzan Vortigern kicked it clean off its hinges and sent it flying through the window with an enormous _crash._

Sargeras fell to the floor, his purple cloak tripping him about the ankles, and he skittered backwards on all fours like an insect as he tried vainly to get away. The old man let out a hoarse, breathless sob of indescribable terror as his withered face was reflected in the surface of a sword so black that the entire world seemed to grow just a little bit darker as it rasped slowly and deliberately from its sheath.

The shadow of Kurzan, the shadow of Death itself, fell over the stricken Sargeras as the assassin advanced upon him. The mutant's eyes seemed to glow of their own volition, burning like fire with the magnitude of Kurzan's fury, and hatred of Sargeras and all he stood for poured off of the mutant's body like a blast of heat from the furnaces of Hell itself. The mutant's gaze was so merciless, so harsh and condemning, that even Katrina had to look away as Kurzan's upraised blade dimly reflected Sargera's terrified expression.

The old man gagged as Kurzan's fist closed around his throat, and the assassin lifted the traitor clear off of his feet as the tip of his blade came to rest against Sargera's sternum.

"Look at me," he said, his tone flat and utterly lifeless.

The healer, shaking visibly with the force of his fear, averted his gaze-

"_LOOK AT ME!"_ Kurzan roared, tightening his grip so that his enemy's face began to turn blue.

As his brain cells began to die from oxygen deprivation, Sargeras turned his head, haltingly and spasmodically, until his eyes were ensnared in Kurzan's own.

There was no mercy, no compassion or pity in those eerily burning, golden eyes.

Then the Hand of the Emperor spoke, and it would be the last voice Sargeras ever heard.

"_You tried to hurt me…You tried to hurt Master…"_

The assassin's voice broke as he uttered his next and final condemnation, and tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. _"But most of all…you tried to hurt Katrina."_

Sargeras's mouth opened in a silent scream as he felt the blade over his heart begin to slowly, ever so slowly, sink into his flesh, and Kurzan brought him close so as to whisper softly in his ear.

"_Die...now."_

The old man's eyes bulged with agony as the blackened sword sank into his body, and his tongue waggled in wordless protestation as blood began to spread across the front of his tunic. Sageras tugged feebly at the weapon in an attempt to remove it, his fingers grasping until they were soaked with gore, and his feet jittered and twitched as the life left his evil body. Kurzan's eyes never left the frightened gaze of his victim, and only when Sargeras's beady orbs had glazed over in death did the assassin remove his blade.

Then, true to form, Hazar took it upon himself to ruin the rather dramatic scene as he and his surviving followers stepped through the ruined doorway.

"Well, _that _little show was thoroughly disturbing," he grinned. "But I have to hand it you, Kurzan...You sure know how to milk the moment!"

A/N: WHOO-EEE! _That _was a long chapter! XD Sure, it was a lot of work, but you know what? You guys are TOTALLY WORTH IT. I must confess that I am somewhat uneasy, though, as I promised you all an epic battle, and I hope to God that what I have produced for you has lived up to all its hype. *Is nervous* But in any case, this story was a BLAST to write, and the final chapter, the conclusion of "The Emperor's Hand" will be up very, very soon. (I got to type this today 'cause classes got canceled due to inclement weather. Thank the Lord for small miracles! ^^) As always, PLEASE review! I think we ALL know how hard fight scenes are to write, and I am never one to turn down a good idea simply because it wasn't my own.

Seriously, I really, really hope you guys found this chapter as thrilling and epic as you expected it to be. The last thing in the WORLD I want to do is fall short on my promises to my readers.

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. If there are any typos in this chapter, know that I will go back and correct them as soon as I get the feeling back in my wrists. XD


	15. Chapter 15

The Emperor's Hand

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 15: A New Beginning

_One day later..._

It was under a flawless, cloudless and azure sky that the foundations of the Eternal City tremble with the cheers and joyous shouts of its citizens. Countless Imperial banners flapped and waved slowly in the warm breeze atop the battle-scarred walls of Rome, battered yet gloriously triumphant in the wake of war, and throngs of the Empire's subjects turned out in the streets in jubilant celebration to hear their Emperor's victory speech. The enormous mass of humanity shook the skies with the collective force of their happy exclamations, and from high windows mothers and small children sent buckets upon of soft pink rose petals fluttering into the air. The streets of the Imperial capital became carpeted with the velvety, softly hued blossoms, which swirled and danced like tornadoes of exquisite color. The city of the Emperor, now swept clean of the horrors of war, trembled and shook under the pounding footfalls of the joyous mob as they reveled and screeched with delight, and in their thousands and tens of thousands they poured into the cobblestone lanes. Every last one of the sons and daughters of Rome rushed in happy throngs to where the Imperial Palace lay, pooling around the raised marble colonnade like the waves of a great ocean, and one thunderous, explosive cheer burst from a hundred thousand lips as Caesar Augustus himself, with Katrina at his ear, turned out in all his majestic glory. The flittering, feathery rose blossoms danced around the great monarch's head, several of them snagging in his crown of laurel leaves, and the Emperor's dark, damask cloak billowed theatrically behind him as he slowly descended the hewn stairway to be among his people.

Caesar held a hand up to signal for quiet, and the exuberant, deafening cries faded away as a smile split the regent's face. "Let it be heard and known from every shore and every mountain's spire," the Emperor intoned solemnly, "That the city of our fathers, of our people, _still stands firm!_ Let this day of victory be remembered by our sons and the sons of their sons until the sun grows cold and oceans turn to sand! Let the birds sing of our triumph! Let the wind carry its whispers to every corner of the world! My people! My brothers and sisters!_Rome stands free!"_

Roars of assent and rounds of earsplitting applause greeted Caesar's proclamation, and it took several moments for the volume to recede enough that the Emperor could once more be heard.

"I say _ours, _for this day does not belong only to me," Caesar continued. "Such a thing is too great for any one man to claim. Today belongs to all, to each and every man, woman and child who dwells within the borders of Rome.

"But we must _all _keep in mind that such liberation does not come without a price," the Emperor added, his tone growing somewhat sad. "And we who have gathered here shall give glory undimmed to those who gave their blood in defense of Rome, to those who honored the Empire's call and gladly paid the ultimate price for _our _freedom. Let us not forget their sacrifice, for such valor and bravery is deserving of remembrance.

"But, though all who rose in arms are worthy of mention, there are two among us without whom the Empire could not have had its victory," the regent finished. "Let them now come forth, and be recognized for their service."

The masses of tightly packed humanity parted as cleanly as if cut with a knife, and the total, almost reverent silence that jarringly replaced the celebratory atmosphere sent goosebumps down one's back. Katrina was so thrilled at what happened next that she had to exert a mighty effort to smother the gleeful expression that threatened to show upon her face.

Kurzan Vortigern and Hazar, Lord of Thieves, emerged from somewhere among the throngs of people and fell perfectly in step as they heeded the Emperor's summons. Kurzan's face could have been carved from stone, such was the lack of expression he bore, but Hazar's enormous grin was bigger than a peeled banana.

Caesar nodded gravely at them. "Hazar, Lord of Thieves, I bid thee kneel," he thundered.

Kurzan's companion complied, his hair falling over his face as he dropped to one knee, and Caesar's blade exerted a gentle pressure as he tapped Hazar on each shoulder.

"For your assistance and willingness to come to the Empire's aid, I give to you and all those who side with you our most gracious pardon," the monarch said. "You are granted amnesty for your past sins, King of Thieves; wiped now clean is the slate of Hazar. Rise, and go with my blessing."

The leader of the Court of Rogues got to his feet once more, and the Emperor's expression became unreadable as he glanced down at the bowed, humbled form of Kurzan. The mutant's head was deeply bowed, his right arm cross over his chest in a gesture of fealty to his Master, and Caesar's face rippled with some unseen emotion as he addressed him.

"Kurzan Vortigern, Sword of the Empire, my most faithful servant…_You have deceived me._"

A collective gasp issued forth from the crowd, and Katrina's eyes became fearful as her uncle continued, "Do you think your Emperor blind, boy? Nothing happens within my household that does not reach my ears; I have seen and heard more than you know, and I have long been party to that which you have tried to conceal from me. I have _seen _the way you look at Katrina, _child_, and not a day has gone by when word of such things has not reached me."

The weapon at Caesar's waist slid dramatically out of its sheath, and Katrina felt a sob of horror escape her lips as the Emperor lifted Kurzan's chin with his blade-tip.

"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" the ruler asked quietly. "Have you no words of protestation, no statements to argue your innocence?"

Kurzan bowed his head once more, exposing the nape of his neck to Caesar's blade. "I do not, Master," he whispered. "For I cannot lie in your presence. Katrina has claimed my heart, and it shall be ever hers even unto death. I shall love her, even as the breath leaves my body, for she is more fair, more perfect and wonderful to me than anything else I have yet witnessed.

The young mutant raised his head and looked his liege right in the eye. "Strike me down as you will, my lord, but it whether or not I die makes little difference. I shall forever hold Katrina dear, and I shall die happily _knowing _that she feels the same for me. I _love _her, my Master, and no weapon forged of iron or steel, will ever be able to change that."

Tears began to leak out of Katrina's eyes. "No…" she moaned. "Uncle…Please…"

"You have spoken your piece, my Hand, and in doing so you leave me no choice," Caesar said grimly, hefting his sword over his head.

"_NO!"_ the princess cried, her tone desperate and ragged as she clutched the sleeve of her uncle's robe. "_You can't do this!"_

The blade descended, and Kurzan waited for death to claim him at last-

-Only to open his eyes in shock as Caesar, at the last moment, turned his wrist away and sent the sword clanging to the ground, a thoroughly amused grin on his formerly hardened face as he casually kicked the weapon away.

"M-Master…?" Kurzan asked, so astounded at being spared decapitation that he could not finish his inquiry.

"I release you from my service, Kurzan Vortigern," Caesar said hoarsely. "On this day, with all of Rome as my witness, I hold your oath to me fulfilled." With a sweep of his hand, the Emperor gestured to his beloved niece, a watery yet happy glint in his eye whilst his tone reached a crescendo. "Look here, all of you, and be amazed that you have seen a display of such selfless love committed before me! Did you not gaze upon Kurzan with your own eyes, watching how boldly and fearlessly my vassal waited to die? Come and admire this man of such selfless duty, whose devotion and care to the one he cherishes gives him the bravery to speak that way to me! My generals and advisors watch their tongues when in my presence, and yet _he, _a servant, looked me in the eye and gave voice to his heart! Truly, you are a warrior born, Hand of mine, to hold and treasure Katrina so deeply that you treat your own well-being in contempt! Never before have I, your Emperor, seen such a thing, and now I declare that your years of service and duty to me have at last come to fruition! Because you have so clearly demonstrated the love you feel for my niece, and in recognition of your tireless service which has for so long gone unrewarded, I shall grant you that which you long for most of all. I, the Emperor upon my throne, decree that you may take my niece's hand and live henceforth as a free man of the Empire!

"May your days be blessed," The Emperor added, tears in his eyes.

Kurzan, true to his subservient nature, prostrated himself at Caesar's feet, but the Emperor shook his head vigorously as he bade the young mutant to stand.

"Nay, Kurzan," the monarch told him, clasping his shoulder tightly, "It is _I_ who should bow to _you__._"

Then Caesar Augustus, the most powerful man in all the known world, sank slowly to one knee as he bowed his head in a manner totally unexpected for one of his lofty station. In the sight of all, the master now bowed to the servant, and as Caesar's fine robes pooled around his ankles, every living person in Rome followed his example. In unison they knelt amidst a great rustle of cloth and scraping shoes, and the dumbfounded Kurzan blushed as Katrina took his hand in hers.

The princess wrapped her arms around him as though she would never let go, and the two of them looked each other in the eye before drawing into a slow, sweet, passionate kiss.

Cries of delight and astonishment from the citizens of Rome reached the princess's ears, and when she realized she needed to breathe, she reluctantly pulled away and pressed her head against the mutant's chest, looking up at him adoringly.

"I love you, Kurzan," she said simply, her words heartfelt and tender in their simplicity.

A solitary droplet of water leaked from Kurzan's golden eye as he beheld his treasure, his his everything, and he breathed in her scent like a sweet perfume before whispering back in her ear:

"I love you, too…_Katrina."_

And, although he did not say as much, and despite the fact that he did not deny or confirm it, it was understood by all that at this moment, Kurzan Vortigern, "The Emperor's Hand," had hung up his swords forever.

His future, a future with Katrina, lay ahead of him, a lifetime of joy and laughter of which he'd never tire.

And to the love-struck mutant's eyes, the world seemed just a little bit brighter.

_~The End~_

A/N: And thus, our story comes full circle, my friends. It is with both joy and sadness that I submit here this final chapter of my tale as a parting gift to you all. I will not deny that I am somewhat sad to see this yarn comet a close, but writing it for you, my readers, has been both an honor and a privilege. I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read this story, and a special shout-out goes to all the people who reviewed: to Indigo-Night-Wisp, MaliceArchangela, AmuletSpade, Blueblue21, GracefulWolvesInTheNight, MovieGal007, love is killing me, Me and Gaara4ever, BrokenBridges, crazy technicolor mess, Caprichoso, Dragoncat, Anahbell, Lozzipalooza X, rockster0810, ObsessedWithNightcrawler, ElvenQueen18, ImNoHeroImTheVillain, TealEyedBeing, Christy-Flare, Acosta perez jose romero, Smiley656, scorpiogrl576, Blue-Red-Ninja, MadHatter0013, MeloveFuzzyDude, ObsessedwithKurtty, and Gabry, my dearest friend, who has been there since day one, I send my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for all your warm reviews, staunch support and useful feedback! With final exams approaching, I must for now put my quill aside. But my heart will always be here, with you, my friends, and in due time I shall return to the land of fanfiction as I have before.

I am Quill N. Inque, my friends.

And I'll see you… along the way


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